


Professor Eames Revisited

by WashedAwayCloud (HowlingSentinel)



Series: Ingrediens ergo lapides, ut in posterum. [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex (maybe), F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Sex, Sex Lessons, Teaching, all the sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowlingSentinel/pseuds/WashedAwayCloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Inception Kink meme prompt: Ariadne asks Eames to teach her how to be a better lover. Bonus points if there are multiple lessons (i.e., lesson 1: how to give good head, lesson 2. how to be on top, etc.) This is a revised and reworked version of the original</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Art of Kissing

**Author's Note:**

Several years had passed since the Fischer job, and the little group of wayward partners had been gathered at the Cobb residence for a barbeque. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t exactly safe, but enough time had passed that their gathering, should anyone be watching, would do unnoticed.

Little Ariadne Papaellis, not so little any longer, is holding James on her feet, dancing him around, when the niggling feeling of being watched makes her turn. Arthur is watching her with a small smile, one born of friendship and an infatuation of year’s prior. He turns to talk to Dom and the lithe brunette is dancing the young boy toward Eames.  The forger is a source of delight to the children, though Phillipa is now nearing pre-teen and farther from the child they were told about, had seen in the dreamscape with her brother.

“Mr. Eames,” Her voice is soft as it always is, eyes and lips smiling.

“Ariadne how is the most beautiful and talented architect in the land?” He doesn’t use a qualifier past that, the sharp tongued young woman has more than proven her worth in his eyes. Her dream work had been short lived, but he, like the rest of them, kept tabs on her. She was a damn good creator, classic and cutting edge.

Biting her bottom lip, she contemplates her answer. “Well enough, I guess. I have… a problem I think I could use your help with.”

“Oh really, Sweetheart? Do tell.” He turns from the attentions of the blonde child and focuses on the brunette.

“I need you to teach me to be – to be a lover.” She murmurs, eyes lifting and sweeping the room in a practiced move.

“Come again?” Eames blurts, shock coloring his features, interest clear just beneath it.

Ariadne flushes an inviting shade of pink, setting off the lemonade shade of her modest dress nicely. Eames always notices things like this. The way her cheeks pink, just the apples, and her head ducks, hair curling to shield her from view. Just like her leather coat and scarves had been bits of armor, this dress leaves her bare, to the passing glance, and well hidden to those who know better.

“Daniel,” She starts at last, a sour look on her face, “Equated intimacy with me, to sleeping with a block of ice. Not exactly the most encouraging of statements.”

“And is this Daniel someone still in your life?”

“Not hardly, I have some pride.” Aria snaps, and it’s clear to Eames that equation of the lad’s is what got him summarily removed from the architect’s life.

“Why me, why not Arthur?”

“A kiss in a dream does not mean he’d be willing to jump into bed with me. To take on roll of sexual teacher, though it does seem like something he’d jump at doesn’t it?” There is a wry grin on Ariadne’s face. “No, he’s married to dream work, and I’d need a pickaxe and flame thrower to get beneath _that_ exterior.”

There is the slightest bit of resentment in her tone. Perhaps Ariadne had tried to work her way into Arthur’s life. The forger couldn’t blame her for trying. Arthur was fascinating in his own way, no last name, no records, not even a service history, though Eames was sure he’d served. There was just a way about Arthur that screamed service time.

“All right, fair enough. There are to be rules with this, however. I don’t fancy having to sneak around a significant other. Though, I honestly cannot fathom you needing lessons in intimacy.” He says quietly, watching the migration of the others. This would need to be wrapped up quickly.

“I’m not the type to sneak around and have such lessons on the sly anyway.”   
“This is going to be one hundred percent on my terms. We’ll start after the party winds down in my hotel. Did you drive?”

“No, my family lives on the East Coast, my car is there.”

“All right. Good catching up, sprite.” Eames presses a chaste, friendly kiss to her cheek before moving around her to speak with Yusuf.

Dom collects James from Ariadne not thirty seconds later. “Everything all right?” His fatherly duties, the lack of steady dream work, have softened the man. Though, Ariadne would wager the man is harder now in dreams, unwilling to let shades even glimmer into his spaces when he does take a job.

“Superb.” Ari replies with a flashed smile and then Saito – of all people, a surprise in attendance, asks her if she’d like another spritzer. “Oh absolutely. Excuse me, Dom.”

 

Hours later, when it had been acceptable for the party to start to disburse, Eames had left, slipping his Hotel name into Ariadne’s hand. Only another hour had passed before Yusuf was begging off, and Ariadne said she was tired as well.

Now the yellow clad young woman stands sipping a deep purple wine with Eames standing in front of her. She is nervous, free hand curling around her waist just to drop and fiddle with her skirt before coming back to rest at her waist. He watches her, the way her cheeks heat and cool, and wonders what is it she’s thinking of that makes her so fidgety.

He had no plans of just falling into bed with the woman. No, she asked how to be a lover, not a good lay. There were some key differences in the two. Lovers seduced, lovers knew little nuances in body language, being a lover was _being_ with a person. Not simply using their body for mutually assured (or a hopefully mutual) pleasure. This was going to take time.

“Ari, why are you so nervous? If you aren’t comfortable with this -”

“No, no, I am. I just haven’t got a terrible amount of experience with sex, Callum. Never had time for it while I was in school, too focused on learning everything I could. I wanted to be…the best, at what I’d chosen.”

“There is nothing wrong with that, sweetheart.” He soothes her and sets down his wine glass, moving purposely forward, to grasp her free hand in his. The other takes her wine glass, and sets it down as he moves her toward the couch.  He sits first, and pulls her carefully to sit with him.

“This goes as slow or fast as you need. Likely as slow, there’s nothing better than a slow burn, now is there?” He teases as he leans back against the couch arm, relaxing against the support. Ariadne is stiff, hands in her lap, back ramrod straight. He heaves a sigh, she was thinking too much.

A gun calloused hand smooths down her arm, making her jerk a little, cheek coloring red. Her head ducks down again and he leans forward, free hand tilting her chin back up. “Don’t hide, love. There is nothing to feel shame about. Come here, hm?”

He guides the stiff woman back against his chest, shifting them to sit comfortably. She had to trust him, be comfortable with him, for this to work. For any intimacy to work really, if there wasn’t any trust or comfort, well, the sex would be awful. Callum doesn’t say that aloud, however. No. He will let their bodies do the talking in these lessons.

His hands return to sliding softly over her butter soft skin. Even though her arms were the only thing uncovered that he’d be touching tonight, the promise of the rest of her feeling like this, so soft, pliant, had his imagination working overtime. His brunette relaxes by degrees. Lying back against him, the stiffness retreating from her limbs.  Her head lying to the side, allowing him to lean down and nuzzle at her while his hands started a larger circuit to include her shoulders.

A soft sound of contentment leaves her before Ariadne turns her face toward his, presumably to ask what is going on. What this lesson is about will be about.  A spark of pride fills the forger when his lips stop that question in its tracks. A little noise of surprise leaves Ariadne, she hadn’t been expecting lips on hers, nor his hands deviating from their set path to settle on her waist.  A little shock of alarm jolts through Eames. He’d not realized Ariadne was so small. He’d never put her in line with the women who would get blown over in a stiff wind, but she was that small.

Her reciprocation of the kiss, a gentle pressure against his mouth, pulls him from such musings. It evolves slowly, naturally, from a press of lips, to a series of chaste kisses. He does not urge her to open for him, doesn’t open his own lips at her urgings. It has the small brunette squirming in his hold, delightfully so.

“Ari – remember, we agreed to my rules.” He rumbles softly, pulling away from her for a moment. Brown eyes are only half open when he speaks to her, taking in the way his lips are glossed now. Transferred from her. Her pink tongue slips out to swipe over her bottom lip, removing the rest of the vanilla clear gloss.  She nods at him, waits, breath even until he moves, and then catching.

She is most definitely interested as Callum’s lips ghost over her own now. Barely there presses, too fleeting for her to return. It drives her mad, absolutely mad. She wants his lips to seal over hers, for them to be pressed together from hip to shoulder.  The thought of it makes her whimper and strain in his hold, half turned and pressed against his chest of her own accord.

Eames is exhibiting an iron will that no one would ever attribute to him. He wants to topple the little woman onto her back, show her exactly what joys can be found with a partner that can read you. But, he can’t read her as well as he’d like to think. Those whimpers of hers are driving him to distraction. Still, he keeps up with the ghosting kisses. Breathes that pass between them, skin brushing skin, yearning for more than that fleeting feeling.

Ariadne is content, sort of, to let him lead this.  Until the countless kisses have her twisting around in his hold completely, on her knees hovering over him, hands coming to cup his jaw. It makes his eyes open, pinning her with a fathomless look. It strikes her that his eyes aren’t quite blue, not quite green, and have flecks of brown in them.

“Is this – is it all right?” She breathes; barely blinking for fear he’ll stand up and call the lessons off.

Her answer comes by way of his hand burying itself in her brown tresses, urging her forward with a firm press of his hand. Their lips meet and it’s not the same as before. She isn’t worried, and he isn’t teaching her to trust him. Still chaste, but not without feeling this is affection, a friendly kiss that goes on a touch too long. The next shifts the paradigm; her lips demand his reciprocate the bruising pressure.  The next is just as hard, full of promise as her hands shift, feeling the stubble on his cheeks, caressing his jaw.

Where did the little architect learn to do that? To make blood burn with a simple touch. Why is she so hell bent on learning things she already knows? The questions swirl in Eames’ mind, the hand on her waist flexing, and pulling her to press against his chest.

Ariadne is awash in a haze of lust. She’d shared kisses before, chaste and passionate, but none like these. They made her blood sing, and she followed the song.  Her hands slide over his skin settling and squeezing his shoulders. Her lips stray from his to pepper kisses over his jaw before he recaptures them.

It makes her impatient. She wants _more_ , and barring removing her lips from his; she has no way of communicating this desire.  She attempts it anyway, arms curling around those broad shoulders, pressing closer. It is a slow set of movements that result in Ariadne sitting astride Callum. Her thighs press against his waist and her skirt is sitting high on her thighs, creamy skin, barely sun kissed, exposed, and begging to be touched.

The simple presses of lips are exciting for once. They aren’t boring, aren’t just a precursor to tongues battling half heartedly to inspire reaction. This is a wholly new experience to the young woman, though not to Eames. Nonetheless it is exhilarating. He has gone so long without a partner who gasps just because his callused, rough fingers slide along the top of their thigh. His hand settles, thumb swiping back and forth on her skin slowly, and he pulls away to look at her.

Her lips are red and parted, colored from all those kisses, cheeks warm, and eyes darker than when they had started. She is pristine still, hair soft beneath his hand; dress not wrinkled even a little bit.  The perfect picture, and she is all his while he teaches her to just _feel_ and stop thinking so much.

Leaning forward once more, Eames grins roguishly when her lips part ad her breath hitches.  This kiss, it marks something, because it is not like before. He works her mouth open farther with gentle pressure before licking inside, quick soft swipes of his tongue. Ariadne is hesitant to meet him, but eventually does.

He can feel her stiffening back up, thinking too much and he works to thwart that before it really takes hold. His hand drops from her hair to her waist, tracing her until his arm is wrapped about her. His tongue continues to coax hers to life and he tips them back slowly. Her shoulders hit the plush fabric of the couch first, then her backs, his arm, her legs shift, splay and Eames fits between them.  Her pale yellow skirt is crushed between them, shifting up to dangerous levels as he supports his weight half on her and half with a leg on the floor.  Her legs cradle his hips in a move that is natural – not thought out.

Ariadne is too overwhelmed with new to focus on thinking about her tongue sliding against his. The way she moans softly when his tongue thrusts into her mouth before retreating. She doesn’t want the kiss to break – her tongue follows his into the cavern of his mouth. He tastes of wine, a hint of hops, toothpaste.  When she starts to map out the forgers mouth, he pulls away.

“Brilliant first go,” he breathes, taking in her glassy eyes and quick breath. “We need to work on your confidence, though.” It is a statement and thinly veiled challenge, one Ariadne, quick thing she is, can pick up on. Grasp the edge of. “We should continue –“

“Callum,” She protests, voice soft and rough at the same time, eyes flashing with fire that usually, Cobb is on the end of. It makes the thief grin, though he attempts to hide it. He shifts up and away from her as if to pull back and talk. The little Greek girl is having none of it, shifting onto an elbow, releasing him, but catching him with her other hand curling into his hair. “No, I don’t – let’s not stop quite here.” She murmurs and then, consumes him.

She is like the sun, pulling him into Orbit with this, her lips working his open without a thought but to get more of him. Her actions are instinct, she tastes him thoroughly, invites him to do the same as she lays back, dragging him with her. It is a slick dance, and makes the woman under him sigh, arching up to press against him. A heady mixture for the teacher to attempt to ignore, to keep on track with the lesson.

Eames can almost applaud himself on his spectacular show of restraint, until her leg curls around his back, the other joining it in short order as his hands migrate to her arse and lift her. It is too good an invitation to pass up, with her demanding kiss, and taste. He grinds against her lightly, teasing her, teasing him. It is a gentle rolling motion and he _shouldn’t_ be entertaining these actions. This was supposed to be kissing, comfort, trust, not frottage. Definitely not frottage, but she is warm and he can _feel_ her through the thin cotton covering her core, skirt of her dress wrinkled and settled about her waist.

The kisses are spiraling out of his control and Eames has to disentangle himself from her. She is intoxicating in her earnest movements, innocent but sexually aware. He would congratulate that idiot of an ex boyfriend. Ariadne was no closer to Ice than Mercury was to Pluto. Slowly moving away from the undone woman, he watches as she floats back from the stratosphere. Her breath makes her chest heave against the fabric of the demure dress, and makes this scene anything but casual.  Brown ringlets are a mess, skirt wrinkled to hell.

This lovely woman was his for months now. He could touch her, draw her out of her shell, bring forward the sexy and confident woman he’d just experienced. It makes him twitch and decidedly advanced lesson plans come to the fore of his imagination. He clears his throat and starts to speak to distract himself.

“I think we’re off to a good start, love. That was a spectacular first lesson.” He rumbles out, not surprised his voice has dropped and sounds like sex. The effect on his girl is notable; catch of breath, pupils dilating further.

“I – I thought, lessons?” She murmurs, unsure once again, sitting up slowly, still not quite back from her high. Her hands smooth the fabric of her dress back down her thighs.

“Oh yes, pet. Not all in one night though. You want to be a lover, a seductress, not a good lay, yeah? That’s what we’ll be working toward. This is not a one-night affair. Unless you’re having second thoughts?”  He questions, fully ready to slide back into the cradle of her body if her intentions have changed.

“No, no I trust you, Ea- Callum.”  Her voice is soft and smile equally so as she starts to really set herself to rights.  Her fingers trace his jaw as she settles down and then stands up.

“I’d better get back to mine.”

“Yes, beauty sleep, not that you need it.”

“Flatterer, I’ll…hear from you-“

“Soon, darling. Let me call you a cab, shall I walk you down?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” She plants a kiss to the older man’s cheek and sweeps toward the door, putting on her little white flats and disappearing with nary a word more. Eames shakes his head and reaches for the phone.

“Hello? Yes, I need a cab for a young woman in a yellow dress.”


	2. Surprise Visits

The scruffy Brit is not far from Ariadne’s thoughts in the next week. She’d had to get on a plane the next morning, but shared her contact information – all of it, with Eames in a very hurried phone call. She hated to begin something like this, just to have to put it on the back burner. Such was life, however, and Callum had more than understood, his flight was in the afternoon, back to Europe.

So it is surprising for the young legitimate architect when she receives a call some hours after Eames should have been half way over the Atlantic. Picking up the phone; a giddy feeling floods her.  He’d always ensnared her senses, but after yesterday evening – well, she was just glad she’d asked Eames and not Arthur.

“Hello, this is Ariadne Papaellis.”

“Miss Papaellis.” Eames’ unique accent flows through the cellphone into her ear. The formality of his tone surprises her.

“Mister Eames. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?” She breathes, unable to help the interested and slightly aroused one of her voice. It had been quite a night, after all, even if it was only kissing.

“Unexpected, but not unwelcome I hope.”  He was flirting with her, teasing her.  It makes a bright smile pull at her pink, gloss free lips.

“Not at all unwelcome. Though, shouldn’t you be half way back to Europe by now?” She turns toward her bed in her loft and sits down carefully, waiting for his answer. He could be calling on the plane, could have gotten bumped to an earlier or later flight.

“Detour, didn’t have another job lined up, and all my contacts know how to contact me. Thought I’d pop off for a bit of a milder clime, I heard Maryland was quite nice in the summers.” The teasing edge is stronger now and Ari’s pulse is speeding up. Eames would be in Maryland.

“Personally…I’m quite fond of Baltimore.” She whispers into the microphone.

“Are you, lovely. I am quite fond of it myself. Shall we do dinner?”

“Well, if you like late dinners, sure.” She laughs, unable to help herself. He’d changed his flight, come to her. That was…dedication at it’s finest, if the woman had to put a label on it.

“Why a late dinner, I happen to be in the middle of town.”

“I have a scheduled work out. I never miss.” She replies honestly, with a slight omission as to the nature of the work out.

“Perhaps I’ll tag along, I do love a good work out.”

“Well, this is sort of, um, a women only thing?” She squeaks, alarmed.

“Do elaborate, pet.” His voice as taken on an interesting tone, deeper, darker. Ariadne knows he has an inkling of what this workout could entail.

“Dancing.” She manages to croak, cursing herself for the way her voice is all over the place. There would be no playing it cool today, apparently.

“Dancing, well, that’s very generic, pet. What sort of dancing. Something like salsa, ballroom, ballet, or aerobics? Perhaps something on the naughty side, hm? Pole dancing maybe, stripping? Burlesque? Tell me when I’m warm pet.” He is chuckling into the receiver and she can almost feel his breath on her ear. This is, it’s absolutely crazy, is what it is.  He should not affect her like this after a few kisses and bit of grinding.

“If you must know,” Ariadne starts, congratulating herself for the steadiness of her voice, “It’s chair burlesque. None of the artistic fan stuff, or free form, it all revolves around chair and floor work.”

“Sounds tantalizing. Can I tag along?” He is pleading with her; the image of a scantily clad architect is obviously running through his mind. Ariadne decides that the teasing is something she might try her hand at, see if she likes it. If it has any affect on him, like it does on her.

“No, I don’t think the other girls would like that, Mister Eames. But,” here the smile on her face surfaces in her tone. “If you are a very good boy, a very good _teacher_ , I will give you a private show, all your own.”

Eames clears his throat and she can hear the rustle of fabric, probably pillows, with the puff of air that follows the rustle as evidence. “All right, you drive a hard bargain, Ariadne. What time does the class get out?”

“Eight sharp.”

“Then I’ll see you at yours at Eight thirty sharp, if that’s enough time for you to shower and dress. I want to take you somewhere.”

“That isn’t part of the arrange-“

“A-Ah, my rules, pet.”

“See you at Eight Thirty. I assume you’ve got my address?”

“What sort of date would I be if I didn’t?”

Chuckling, Ariadne sits back against her headboard. The pair chat a bit longer before hanging up and then she is left to her own devices and giddy state of being. She had a date, one that presumably would _not_ involve cheap burgers and cheaper beer, which was a very welcome change.

Lifting her wrist she checks the time and swears. She had to choose clothes for after she got out of class! And get changed and on the road for class! It is a flurry of movement for a good ten minutes in the architects little apartment and then she is tossing food to her cat and slamming the door shut. 

-

Ariadne was _late_. Not “Oh god that better be the fastest shower on Earth” late, but “Holy fuck I need to have gotten home twenty minutes ago to be any semblance of on time” late.  She is flying around the corner of her building, the parking lot situated at the back, when she spots Eames lingering by the door. His brow is furrowed and he’s actually shaved, his suit is free of wrinkles and it’s strange. She’s used to seeing him in oddly cobbled patterned polos and pants when he isn’t on the job.

“Sorry!” She says, running up the stairs to his position and jangling her keys to open the door. “Class ran over, traffic is a bitch tonight, and just come on up, we’ll be outta here in twenty.” Her cheeks are deep red and his not blue -not green eyes are eyeing her ridiculously tall heels. She loved them, the one pair she’d bought full price without a thought, and rarely got to wear – until she found her three times a week class.

“Now where do I have to take you to see you strut about in those?” He asks, shrugging off the apology, following her up to her loft. It was a relatively small building, maybe thirty apartments in the building total. The complex was a restoration renovation type deal, lots of artful exposed brick and very little dead space in the layouts. It was why Ariadne had chosen to live here instead of one of the new construction apartment complexes.

“These?” She dangles the dangerous spikes as she starts bouncing up the stairs. Elevators were for laundry and grocery days. Neither of which she had with her at present.  “These are the “Man killer” heels, Eames, I think they should stay right away from wherever we go. I do have other heels, I just never wear them.”

“I gathered, as I’ve never seen you in a pair.” He responds dryly, and Ari is sure he’s mentally figuring out a date that would require heels, just so he can look at her legs in them.  Or he might just like it when women wear heels. She isn’t actually sure where Eames’ preferences lie and suddenly she has a whole host of things to think about.

Eames, notices the sudden silence in the wake of his comment and jumps a couple steps to walk beside her. “Y’know, pet, why don’t you just shower, and get comfortable. We’ll order take away and get in a lesson at the same time. Well, not the same time, but after. Sound good? I can take you out later in the week, no need to rush.”

Ari jerks out of her thoughts and glances at Callum. “But you look so handsome, shame that you went to all this trouble and are going to sit on my couch eating Chinese or something.”

“Nonsense, it’ll be great, better than sitting in the restaurant trying to drop my napkin to nip under the table and have a taste.” He teases boldly and delights in the way her face lights up, jaw dropping slightly.

“You wouldn’t have!” She gasps and stops on her floor, apartment number 20 the door she zooms in on, to the left of the staircase and elevator.

“Might have, if only to hear you squeal.” He continues with the teasing, mischief lining his face. The shorter of the two can see she shouldn’t take the comment seriously.

“Don’t mind the clutter,” she murmurs and opens the door zipping in to wait for him to come in after her. Eames finds the woman’s loft refreshing. His own base of operations is much messier than hers could dream to be. Models are scattered around the place, a drawing desk doubles as table and room divider from what he can surmise.  Her couch is more love seat than couch, and there are bookshelves covering one entire wall, the kitchen has a window, he assumes the loo and bedroom doo as well, since they are all stacked along the far wall.  There are small windows near the ceiling, but very little light would come in them. Her light bill must be awful, or she keeps the bedroom and bathroom doors open a lot. Probably the latter.  
“Right, so, kitchen there, landline there, takeout menus in the sleeve on the fridge, I eat pretty much anything, here is my card for my half and I’ll be out in ten.” Aria shoves her credit card at Callum before becoming a short brown and pink whirlwind between her bedroom and bathroom. Drawers are slammed; a pair of jeans scooped from the floor, t-shirt pulled from her closet and it’s all taken into the bathroom with her.

Chuckling, the chocolate haired man ambles toward the fridge and its aforementioned bounty of take away menus. When Ariadne vacates her bathroom in a billowing cloud of fragranced steam, Eames has just set the phone in its cradle.  A quick duck into her bedroom and the clothing is taken care of, door too her sanctuary summarily closed.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Curry actually, went with the Indian place, it had the most recent and best reviews on yelp.”

“You checked out the take out places on yelp?” She can’t help but laugh at that. She’d never pegged Callum for the type.

“I may eat some questionable things, sweetheart, but never just anything and never when I can get better than questionable.” He smirks and settles on her small sofa, waiting for her to hunker down next to him.

“So, talking, telly, a rousing game of twenty questions, or a film? What is your favorite film anyway?”

“Did that never show up in Arthur’s background on me?” Ariadne teases quietly coming around to sit on her couch with Eames. She had always assumed that the background would have been shared with everyone. Perhaps the point man simply dug around for distressing information and then left it. Didn’t _seem_ quite right, but how was she to know, really.

“No, the stick in the mud likely knows, but the rest of us are mere mortals, dove. You’ll have to enlighten me.” Callum stretches an arm across the back of the couch and Ari’s shoulders. He draws her closer, making the space between them disappear.

“Gone with the Wind, been my favorite movie for…wow a decade at least. I saw it with my best friend at my grandmother’s house. We were…twelve I think. Jenna was all about _The King and I_ ,  we saw the animated version on her birthday a few year or two before we watched Gone with the Wind. But, I love Scarlett. She was so spoiled, so haughty, even when she had nothing. I sort of admired that about her. Still do, really.”

“That, dove, is an odd thing to admire about a person.” Eames chuckles, glad that Ariadne hadn’t modeled herself after her favorite character.

“It’s so impractical, even during the civil war, but she made a place for herself despite that. You’ve got to admire her drive and charisma. People tried to change her, but she just refused. In a society and time where people are forever changing just to fit in, to meet ideals…” Ariadne shrugs and her words trail off, meaning clear. Her admiration wasn’t for the actual attitude Scarlett had, but her tenacity to stay true to herself.

“I do believe I understand, dove. Well, what say we watch that, we can pause when the food gets here and even chatter a bit if you like.” Eames removes his arm, ready to get up and put the movie in.  It makes the little brunette smile. “Sit, let me get it. I don’t actually remember where I put my anniversary copy. This could take a minute.”

Keen Blue-green eyes follow the petite woman’s progress around the room. She is more graceful than most would assume, moving about with barely heard footsteps, hands trailing on DVD spines with a gentle touch. It is a bit like a dance, her familiarity with the room letting her dip and sway around the various pieces of furniture or art, old models, until, finally she stops. A soft triumphant noise leaves her mouth as she discovers the movie. It is placed in the DVD player with little fanfare and soon enough the lithe woman is settling herself against him.

There’s no shyness in the action. Ariadne simply folds herself against him, pulling her legs onto the couch with her. This time when his arm curls around her shoulders, he doesn’t have to pull her closer, as she is already pressed against her side.

It is the start to a friendly, intimate evening. Trading lines with her as they watch Scarlett’s life unfold before them. It’s barely an hour in before the food arrives, and then they have to shift so Eames can stand. Eames mourns the loss of her warmth for a moment, as he travels to the door to retrieve the bags. However, when he sits again, she is right there, barely any space at all between them.

It’s like that for the rest of the evening. Just getting to know her via her favorite movie, and gorging on take out. He’d anticipated a lesson, a date, but this was just as good. Better even. She was comfortable like this – and he had a better measure of her now. The lessons would benefit from it.

 


	3. The lesson of Self-Pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one sort of got away from me. I wanted to show more of their relationship growing, and I tend to write in a scene based style now. So that's why this got stupidly long.

 It is three days before Ariadne and Eames manage to grab some time to visit one another again. Ariadne works at a small, up and coming Architecture firm, and her latest draft deadline is looming. It’s nothing she can’t handle; in fact, she adores the looming deadlines, the final rush of measurement checking and detail perfection.

 

The young woman treats every draft as if it will be the final product, the one that ground will get broken for. It’s why she is so highly valued at the small firm.

 

So, it is Wednesday before Eames gets a simple text from her stating “ Come Over? Movie Date?” it brings a grin to his face. Ariadne was a simple sort of girl when it came to this. Movies in, apparently, satisfied her just as much as fancy restaurants. Perhaps more.  Even so, he had plants for the young woman tonight. He replies, “No, I promised you a night out Dove, come to the Windham and we’ll go out.  Business casual dress?” It’s only a few seconds to get a quick “o.k.” in return.

It had been sent quickly enough that Eames didn’t detect any sullenness at plans being switched on her. Not that one could really garner much context with text messaging or any platform of typing. Tone was subjective in those. The reader taking away what they assumed to be rudeness or anger from it when in fact the writer had meant for laughter or just plain words to be taken away. It was a bit vexing and one of the reasons that Eames actually preferred hand written notes and letters, even with his atrocious spelling. That was getting better, more by need than choice.

Forty minutes later a ring breaks the silence of the forgers hotel room. Picking the receiver up, he is quickly informed by the lovely desk clerk that there is a young woman waiting for him in the lobby. Thanking the woman, he hangs up and makes sure he has his keycard in his pocket before strolling out the door.

Ariadne is leaning at the desk, chatting with the woman on evening duty. The closer her gets the more he can make out of their conversation.

“-Very polite, he came down just last night to grab a snack from the convenience store. You must be his girlfriend. Not many men would just up and stay in a hotel for a week to see a pretty girl,” the clerk remarks with a smile. She must be married, probably got a great family from the way she’s lightly teasing Ariadne.

“No not a girlfriend. Eames is a co-worker and friend. Not seen him in years but we’re taking the opportunity to catch up.” The brunette returns easily.  Callum grins and stuffs his hands into his pockets, making his sport coat bunch a bit.

“Hello, dove. You’re a bit earlier than I expected. Ready to go get supper?”  It was said as much to announce his presence as to get Ariadne’s attention.

“Course, we walking or are we taking my car?” She asks, turning with a little smile to the clerk, getting a knowing look in return.

“We can walk, the restaurant isn’t terribly far away actually. Italian place, I can smell it every afternoon when they start up the breads and sauces.”

“Angelo’s! They’re family run and _fantastic_ , you kids have fun and enjoy it.” The clerk chirps, grinning a bit, her name is Cheryl, and he quite likes her actually. He grins in return and turns his attention back to Ariadne.

“You heard her, it’s fantastic. Shall we?” He offers his arm to the younger woman, and Ari takes it with a little grin. “Let’s go Romeo.”

With a nod to Cheryl they’re off across the lobby and out the glass doors in under a minute. The night air is heavy with the coming rain, but it’s only half a block to Angelo’s and neither can bring themselves to worry about later just yet.

The dinner goes without incident, without a great clap of thunder or torrential downpour starting up the whole time. Conversation is easy for the former co-workers turned nearly lovers. He asks her questions about what she likes, she dodges what she doesn’t want to talk about with witty one-liners that make him laugh. When she asks questions, ones he can’t answer – _won’t_ answer, he just smiles and asks what her favorite oral position is.

They are the facsimile of a couple and Ariadne doesn’t even question it. She’s just out with Callum. Enjoying herself, getting to know the forger on a more intimate level. His lesson’s the sly ones; ones she didn’t really sign up for, are going swimmingly. There are points where he can tell she’s uncomfortable talking. When he asks about her family, or her favorite subject in high school. High school may be fondly looked back on by everyone, ten and twenty years down the road, but five years out and some insecurities still linger. It’s clear as day on her face – Ariadne was not one of the “popular pretties”, though she should have been by his estimation. Her family is important to her. Held close to her chest, guarded, like a dragon’s treasure. Eames filed it all away for later. To show her when the lessons were complete. So she would know. It wasn’t bad to keep things close, but sometimes people, _normal_ people, who didn’t do dream work, wouldn’t know why wouldn’t understand.

“Dessert, dove?” It is a spontaneous question, just as the last of their wine is poured between glasses. It makes the brunette’s eyes jump up and for the first time, Eames takes stock of his companion for the evening. Her hair is swept up, a mess of curls that is begging to be released around her shoulders. Her dress is another fifties throw back, and suits her frame. She’s matured somewhat, more than he’d noticed during their heated first lesson. She has fuller hips and more noticeable, yet small breasts. Well, he said small, but they were of a good size for her frame. Nothing that screamed artificial or overly endowed, yet he still desperately wanted to get his hands on them, see them taste them. Watch her fall apart while he manipulated that particular part of her.

The pale blue of the dress sets off the brown of her hair, and the floral pattern makes him think of summer. There are delicate little flats on her small feet and they miraculously match the pale blue fabric of her dress – sans floral pattern. The dress when she’s sitting just hits the top of her shins, the swing skirt lifting to show a pretty yellow under skirt. The girl – _woman_ had taste. Kept things interesting too, if the yellow is anything to go by. He eyes her legs and wonders if the smoothness is stockings or expertly shaven legs. He cannot quite tell from this angle with the current lighting. Callum has to swallow down the urge to lean over the table and give a well tone calf a bit of a feel. Ariadne had excellent gams for an office worker.

“There is a bakery that makes the best baklava you’ll get outside of Greek town and Greece. Surprisingly it’s over in little Italy. “ Her mellow tone of voice draws the forger from his perusal of her form.

“Can we walk it or do we need a cab? I’d like to not be out until all hours of the night. I have plans for you little dove.” He rumbles with intent, smiling when her breath catches almost too quietly for him to hear. It made the primitive and very male part of him perk up with interest every time he affected her and Ariadne let it show.

“Cab will be much faster, especially now that rush hour is well behind us.” She replies, and there is a touch more air cushioning those words as the lithe woman speaks. The Brit wants to know what is going on in her head. What does she think of when his voice drops like that? The kisses shared nearly a week ago. The promise of more to come? Thwarted lessons within the tiny confines of her apartment, perhaps?

“Shall we pay our tab and go then, dove? It’s coming close to seven thirty.” Again, he watches her like a hawk. Surprise filters through chocolate pools and then acceptance, eagerness, a bright light he can’t quite name. She enjoyed his company, was surprised dinner could take nearly two and a half hours. Anticipation for the trip to her favorite bakery, sharing something with a friend, a teacher, …him?

“Come on, my treat. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you paid for the take out the other day, Mr. Eames. Chivalrous and completely unneeded, but not unappreciated.” Ariadne chirps, fluidly rising from her seat with a grace he’d noted only in passing before.

“Darling, I was the one who invited you on this excursion. It should be me footing the bill.” He replies, folding his napkin and placing it at his setting as he rises.

“Ah-ah. We were going to go out just the other day and you would have paid then. Indulge me, Callum. Let me pay?”

“Who am I to deny the lady her wishes?”

“Thank you.”

It’s not that big of a deal to Eames as Ariadne and he walk to the counter to pay. His hand lays itself on the small of her back and stays there the whole time. Not a peep from her. He lets his arm curl around her on the way out and she turns cherry red before leaning on him. That makes him smile.

“Comfortable or should I back off a bit,” the inquiry is soft and when Ariadne looks at him, she notes how grave his face seems.

“I’m comfortable Callum. Plus, it’s getting chillier and I forgot a coat in the rush to get to you.”

“Let me give you my coat.”

“I like this better.”

He pauses at her soft declaration and smiles slowly. Maybe, just maybe, it was the matter of finding his eager student the right man after this was all over. She flowered beautifully for Eames, and there had to be an explanation for it beyond simply knowing the basics of how to get someone to open up. She was so eager to work with him. It had been ages since any lover had been that meet in the middle for him.

“Let’s get you that pastry, dove, and then, we’ve got a lesson planned, my place is closer, we’ll cab back.” He receives a smile in answer and tucks the little Greek closer against his side.

The bakery is the warmest that the thief has ever stepped foot into – and it isn’t just the temperature. Ariadne _knows_ everyone here, and from the moment they walk in the door, there is chatter.

“Bella Aria!” An elder man crows from behind the counter, he may very well be Italian. “You’ve been gone, we’ve missed you!”

“The cupcakes and baklava have missed you too.”

“I missed you, Miss Aria!” A little girl screeches the last, perhaps ten years old who careens from around the counter and latches onto Ariadne’s middle. Callum is overwhelmed for a moment. He’d moved so much for the last fifteen, twenty years that he forgot what community like this was like. He watches as the brunette slides seamlessly into the conversation, chiding the young girl for not having her apron on while in the back. Something the child’s parents must do from the way a couple in the back are nodding and laughing.

“Who’s your handsome fella?”  Eames blinks when he hears the conversation shift to him and he puts on a smile, ambling farther into the store.

“This is Callum, a good friend of mine.”

“Good friend, huh?” The man behind the counter asks – and suddenly Callum feels like he’s stepped into a meet the parents situation. All eyes are on him and he chuckles, can’t help it really.

“I met Ariadne at work, she’s brilliant, by the way, did you know?  Met her at work, and then she left her internship and I was bereft without her unique personality around. Tracked her down and kept in touch.”  It was a simple little rouse, and not actually a lie other than it having been her internship. The Point man and Forger had found her at the same time, holed up in her parents’ neighborhood for a weekend to unwind before heading back to France.

“You knew our Aria in France, eh? Was she different when she was away from home?” One of the younger women behind the counter is teasing them both as she asks that.

“Mia!” Ariadne looks scandalized as she swings the little girl up into her arms.

“I’m just asking, Ariadne. You never really talk about France.”

“She was a gem. Stubborn, willful, she made models of Penrose stairs that defied logic. Utterly brilliant.”

“Eames, don’t encourage them!” She laughs and turns to him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m just answering the question, dove. You can’t expect me not to.” He replies before turning to the owner and eldest male in the room. His nametag says Roberto.

“Roberto, my lady wanted me to try some of your baklava. But I think we’ll need more than that, I’ll be here a week yet. I put myself at your mercy – what is the best?”

The older man’s eyes crinkle around the edges and he gives Eames a calculating look. “Everything is great here. But, for you? Come with me; let me show you the light pastries. Ariadne loves the baklava, all that Greekness. I tried to get her to marry my boy, Antonio when she came home.  Now I know why she said no. Work friend! Pah! Come with me.”  He waves his hand and Callum has to laugh. He had to come back here, if for no other reason than this bakery in little Italy. This family was amazing.  He follows him down the display case and into the back room. It’s full of empty wracks, that were probably fully of the daily made pastries from this morning. Eames never really new what was made every day in a pastry shop and what got made as it ran out. He assumed anything with cream was a bi-daily thing.

“Here, fresh, cool, something you Englishmen should like. Italian!” Roberto take the pastry bag of chilled cannoli cream from the cooler and grabs up a couple shells. Filling them expertly he hands one to the tawny haired man.

“Try it, try it.”

Grinning, Eames takes a bit. It’s an explosion of delicate cheese sweetness with a hint of chocolate and cinnamon. It’s delicious. He’d never had one before, and now wondered why.

“Ahh, you see! Perfetto, delizioso!”

“Yes, very. I think I’ll take a half dozen of these my friend, and whatever Ariadne wants.” Callum has to mumble around the pastry. It’s fantastic. French pastries were grand, as were African pastries – which he had quite a palate for, but this was new and just wonderful.

When the pair return to the front of the shop, Ariadne has a box started, a cup of tea in her hands and is chatting away with the younger girls – around her age, that have obviously just clocked out for the night.  She turns when she hears Roberto clamor for the box, a soft smile aimed at her friend. Mischief colors her eyes as she opens her mouth to speak.

“He gave you the cannoli’s didn’t he? Those are _his_ personal favorite in the shop. Anyone who isn’t familiar with the pastries here gets treated to that one. You should get a couple lobster tails too, if you liked that.  They’ve got napoleons here as well, didn’t you get those and cream puffs while on the Saito job?”  She doesn’t look up from the case, but there is a smile on her lips. It is knowing and impish.

“I did. I’m flattered, dove. You remembered. It’s been two years.” He rumbles making the younger women giggle and the older ones pin Ariadne with looks of their own.  Her cheeks redden and she turns to him.

“I’m a details girl.”

“Yes, you are.” He replies and walks to the register with Roberto shadowing him. Twenty minutes later they are bundled on little couch and sharing sticky baklava and kisses.  The kisses, well, those were sort of a bonus, and not at all on Eames agenda.  It didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it, though. Her lips are sweet, his likely just as sweet. However, what he enjoys most is how she takes initiative. 

Her lips are insistent, asking for more, working his open with soft little movements. There is no hesitation in her kisses, the way her tongue licks into his mouth so curiously.  She maps him out, learns the crevices of him, finds, slowly, what makes him gasp and press against her.  It is a slow build, a slow refocusing of their intentions.

Honey cover fingers slide, skip, over jaws and throats, they tangle in hair. It was something that consumed her, and him in turn. The pastry boxes lay forgotten on the table, her thighs slide against his, and her body fits snuggly against her companion’s. They are pressed together on that small couch, from shoulders to hips.  There are no words whispered between them, but they move together.

The smell of her, and taste of her rouses Eames easily. His dress slacks are tightening by degrees faster than he’d remembered them ever doing after he’d reached maturity. His hands abandon her hair with effort to rest in the dip of her waist. She’ll have to dry clean her dress, and that, that is his last thought unrelated to lips, and taste for a while.

Ariadne is consumed by her friend, his lips, which get overlooked much too often, are soft. The last man she’d kissed had terribly chapped lips nearly all the time. It was that soft slide of their lips in an otherwise demanding series of kisses that spurred her to seek more. His hands had a grip on her waist just this side of good, and the pale woman wonders if she’ll find bruises later. It doesn’t bother her, the thought of marks from an encounter with Callum. In fact, it makes her whimper and press her mouth against his more urgently.

He tastes like honey, sweet and tangy, like the walnuts in the pastry and something else. Something that makes her hands grip at the back of his head to anchor him to her. She can feel the heat radiating from him, and wonders if she is as warm as he is right now. Her lower half shifts, the ardor of the encounter having started her body on a road to more, and she stills. Eames is hard beneath her, the movement makes him groan against her mouth and Ariadne is suddenly consumed with nerves.

“Are you all right, Ariadne?” The words, laced with concern, are whispered into her mouth.

“I- I don’t”

“You do, just _feel_ , Ari, do what feels good.” He rumbles, encouraging her, and she pulls back slightly. Callum follows and his hands slide down to her hips, pulling her against him.

“Feel Ari, don’t think. Come here. Just feel.” His mouth presses against hers in a soft kiss, barely any pressure, it was just to keep her from thinking. She responds hesitantly. _Feel_ , she murmurs to herself, _just feel_.  The architect does as she is told and shuts off the worry. Or does so as much as she can. Little by little she relaxes as their mouths reacquaint themselves.

Her mouth leaves Eames’ to pepper kisses across his jaw, to let her tongue peak out and swipe against his pulse point. It makes gooseflesh rise on his neck and she nibbles this time. He shifts under her, she can feel how it makes him respond and for the first time in a long time – she feels sort of powerful. Ariadne feels devastating and sexy, she can acknowledge his arousal is her doing, and revel in it.

Slowly, as her mouth works against his throat, sucking and nibbling at the expanse of skin, her hips shift against his. Just a light roll, and it spurs quite the reaction from them both. Callum half bites hack a groan, the sound aborting in his throat, Ariadne presses so no air can get between them. She hadn’t realized how turned on she was until that movement. Her mouth pauses in its work and she shifts again, with purpose.  This time the groan is hers, and she presses her core against his erection. There may be three or four layers of cloth between them, but it doesn’t dull sensation.

“Is this ok?” The I is drawn out and sighed against his ear, and his hands flex on her hips.

“Yes.”

“Can you –“

“What, pet?”

“Can you… can you touch me while we..”

“God Ariadne….” He crushes his mouth against hers as she rolls her sodden panties against his too tight trousers. This, this was not on the agenda for tonight. He has to retake control somehow.

Disentangling himself was a trial, one he was only half invested in.  But Eames manages to still her hips, and part their mouths. He doesn’t let her off his lap, nor does he let her calm enough for that wild look to leave her pretty brown eyes.

“Lesson time, poppet.” He growls out, lifting them both off the couch. It was no small feat with her impersonating a spider monkey, either. He peppers soft kisses on her shoulders as he walks toward his bed.

“Do you know what makes your toes curl, love?” That makes her stiffen in his arms. Eames just barrels forward, requiring an answer.

“Come on Ari, these are things we both need to know.”

“What exactly are you asking Cal?”

“Do you touch yourself?”

“No!”

“Are your parents Orthodox?”

“Reformed…”

“Mm Hm… Well, this is our lesson tonight.”

“Cal – No…”  
“Why not, pet? How do you expect me to get you off, if you don’t know what gets you off?” That brings Ariadne up short. Shouldn’t he be able to tell, though? To feel and hear her enjoyment?

“Shouldn’t you be able to tell?”

“Yes, I’ll be able to tell – because I’ll be _looking_ to make sure you’re enjoying it. Not all men will be like me. They’ll assume. So, we teach you how to make sure you get yours.” It is a strange conversation to have while wrapped around a man she will eventually, hopefully, bed.  Ariadne does concede that he has a point. Daniel hadn’t looked. He said she was just a “shit lay” and that had been the end of that.

“All right.” She consents quietly as the tall man sets her carefully down on the hotel bed. It is half way to cloud status and she wonders how Eames can stand sleeping on it night after night.

“Good, let me just get the lights.” Eames steps a few feet away and plunges them into near darkness. The light from the window illuminates the sitting area, but not the wall the bed is situated against. She can hear the scrape of a chair against the carpet.

“Undress.” Eames instructs in a soft tone. It’s one the young woman has never from him before.

“…Do I have to?”

“Considering this is an exercise in touching yourself, yes.”

Groaning she shoves her panties off and throws them at him, estimating where the chair sits from where she hears his voice coming from. They land off to the side and Eames chuckles. “Now poppet, those are quite tiny. I approve.  But, white?”

“Shut up.” She growls and hikes up her skirts. “There, needed bits uncovered,” she grouses uncomfortably.

“No darling, all of it. This is a full body sort of activity. Come on, off with the blue, the yellow, are you wearing a bra under there?” He is teasing her while trying to get her to undress.

“This is…unorthodox.”

“Not at all, pet. I don’t personally like having my limbs compressed by clothing while chasing an orgasm. Some people do. But lets start with the basics for you, hm?  
“Fine!” The zipper of her dress rasps in the darkness and relative silence of the room. The sheets shift and suddenly a great ball of fabric is sailing toward Eames.  Her petticoat is not far behind it and then the rustling of sheets and comforters stops.

Callum can just barely see the gentle curves of his architect in the dark.  He wishes she would ask for the lights to be turned up, alas, the hoped for question doesn’t come. He settles back in his chair.

“All right poppet. Lie back and get comfortable for me,” he tells her quietly and listens as she shifts about.

“And now?”

“Now close your eyes pretty thing. Picture the man you want over you. Your hands are his hands.  He’s going to touch you the way you want him to touch you.  Start wherever you want. Hips, breasts, your hair, your arms… just get used to it. The feel of your skin under your hands.”

Listening to him, it’s easy for Ariadne to just lie back and do as he says. To sink into the comforter and pillows, for her hands to raise from beside her and slide first over her neck. She is nervous about this, feeling silly that a _man_ has to tell her how to masturbate. Of all things, she did not think she needed lessons on how to masturbate.  But, the gentle swipes of her hands, so different than simply putting lotion on, just because of her mind set, make her skin prickle. She’s overly aware of herself. How her nipples pucker and rise in the relative coolness. How the slick of their earlier activities makes her thighs slide together.

Ariadne won’t admit it, but with Eames in the room with her, talking to her, perhaps watching her, it makes this strangely enticing. In the back of her mind, she wants him to see, wants it to arouse him like the concept of him watching is arousing her.  Her slim hands slide across opposite shoulders and arms while resting on her stomach. Ariadne’s touch transfers – feather light- to those new and uncharted plains, by passing her needy center for her thighs. She pets at her skin curiously. Drags her nails over herself, gasps softly at the little lines of pleasure she creates. It’s different than being with a partner, somehow easier and better at the same time. All the exploration is her own, and she can switch sensations whenever she likes – because it is her body and she is the one playing with it.

 Eames quiets as Ariadne continues her exploration. The slight movements entrance him in the darkness. The decent part of him tells him to get up and leave her. To let the little brunette get this lesson done on her own. However, he stays.  She hasn’t asked him to go, and that keeps him where he’s at.

Ariadne is picturing the broad Forger over her. It was inevitable really that his face shows up behind her eyelids. He was – or would be, her lover soon, and his voice, oh his voice, those kisses, his lips. They couldn’t be left out of this adventure. So, it is Eames’s mouth and not Ariadne’s hands that slides up her sides. His hands that cup her modest breasts and give them a little squeezes. He explores them, surprisingly deft fingers plucking at puckered buds. Taking them between his fingers, rolling them, pinching, pulling at them until she sighs contently.

His knee parts her legs, and his weight settles between them in her little fantasy. He growls against her neck, nibbling, sucking a mark into that sensitive skin.  Phantom heat makes her squirm on the bedding and she distantly hears Callum suck in a breath.  What should she do now. Just go for the prize? Play a while longer? What was right in this situation?

“What now?” The whisper is out before she can think of saying or doing otherwise.

“What _feels_ right? What does your body want, Ariadne?  Do you want more sweet touches, more exploration? Is your quim greedily begging for fingers yet?” The husky quality of Eames voice gets parsed into her fantasy. So quickly that Ariadne’s cheeks flush. Stilling, she lazily plucks and twists at her nipples, trying to decide.  In the end, one hand stays stationed at her breasts and the other slides south with a purpose.

It encounters the slight prickle of regrowing hair as she moves it across her mons. Usually that alone would have the young woman scrambling for her clothing, but like this, immersed in darkness and fantasy, she doesn’t much care. Would Eames were it his hand? She doesn’t think he would. Her fingers slide lower, and then the thing nimble digits curl. They slide against her outer lips and she sighs. Of course she’s touched before. Explored for the sake of health and knowing what she looked like normally to ascertain any abnormalities in the future.

Still, it was nothing in comparison to this. Clinical, detached, a bit grossed out. This was strangely sensual, the gentle messages of her hand against slick folds. She parts herself carefully, shivering and groaning softly. That shouldn’t be erotic, shouldn’t feel like anything really, but she’s slick and her fingers slide involuntarily to her inner depths, trapping her clit between them. She unintentionally created a cradle with her fingers. Shifting further she makes it so her index and ring fingers hold her body open and her middle gently grazes that little hooded nubbin. Her breath whooshes out of her mouth, intense, euphoric, and just this side of good is how she would describe that particular sensation.

Ariadne continues, little flicks of her fingertip against the bundle of nerves sending her squirming around the bed. It was exquisite torture.  Eames clearly knows what it is she’s discovered, because a low throaty chuckle sounds in the room.

“Gather a bit of your slick pet. Try circles with a bit of lubrication. See how you like that.”

Breathlessly, the brunette arches her hips up a bit to meet her fingers slide just a touch further south. “Ohhh…” She sighs when those fingers brush over the entrance of her pussy. She’d never really given it much thought. Why would touching around there bring her pleasure? Shouldn’t it have all been focused at her clit and inside?

The woman is becoming rapidly disabused of that notion.

Letting her digits slide about in the slickness, she circles the entrance into her body, relishing the little shocks of pleasure it gives her. It was so new, and so delicious. She felt like she was doing something she shouldn’t. Which is silly as health professionals extol the virtues of self-love rather freely now. As long as you were comfortable talking to them about such things, they were more than happy to inform..

“Ari, love, don’t get carried away just yet. The circles.” The deep velvety voice of her teacher washes over her and makes her draw back slightly. Her hand drags lightly over that wonderful bundle of nerves until they slide, slick with her own juices. They circle once and she gives a soft cry. So much, too much, not enough, another circle, another and another. They vary in speed and pressure until she has what she wants and nothing can stop her. Her blood rushes through her veins, heart beat pounds away in her chest.

The occupied brunette misses that the other brunette in the room has become restless. She misses the rasp of _his_ zipper. Had she been looking, she’d see the way his shadow slouched in the chair, how he held his pants away from his body. Hear the frustrated sounds he made as his hands circled and tugged at his member.

It was too much for Eames _not_ to take care of his raging hard on. Ariadne made the sweetest sounds. Sounds he didn’t get to really enjoy when they were wrapped around one another like barnacles. Now though, when he can’t touch, oh those noises drive him half mad. He wants to clamor onto the bed, seal his mouth over hers while he really feels those curves.

He wants to sink into her hot little hole and make sure both of them are a hairs breadth from screaming before either falls into oblivion. But, that lesson is later, much later. How will he survive it? He has to. The heat of his hand isn’t what he wants. He wants a slightly smaller, slightly cooler hand wrapped around the flesh of his cock. Eames wants to hear her comment on his size, compare him with the past and to be found _better_. Later, it would come later he hoped.

The slight woman on the bed has moved so her feet are planted on the bed, and her hips dance under her fingers. They buck and still as she finds _just_ the right way to play with her clitoris. She doesn’t just stick to circles any more, she pulls at it lightly, pinches even. It’s about what gets her off, and she is suddenly taking that very much to heart.

“Put… put some fingers inside pet. Your cunt must be _screaming_ for it by now. “ Ariadne starts as Callum talks again. Oh, could she do both. She could. The thought of thrusting fingers and pulling or circling fingertips makes her moan loudly, slicing through the sounds of their pleasure.  Yes, yes that was a very good idea.

Her entire body is flying on autopilot right now. Good suggestions like that become imperative and soon her fingers of her left hand are holding open her lips, and the fingers of the right are rubbing at her opening. It only lasts long enough for her to get them wet enough to sink inside. She thrusts them lightly, getting used to the two that she fit inside without much issue. Would Eames be able to do that? His fingers were bigger after all. Would it be a bad thing if he could? Would it be better if he had to tease at her with one and then start to stretch her to take two? Was his cock bigger than two fingers? Could she take his cock without the fingers? She wanted to be able to. To squirm when he was fully seated in her. She wanted to feel… to feel… She couldn’t quite find the word for it and it didn’t really matter right now.

Unintelligible whimpers and moans fall from the woman in a steady stream. It spurs Eames on to new heights.  He hasn’t been this ready for sex in years. Not to say he couldn’t get it up or want to have a tumble, but this right here, it was something special, magical. He felt like a teenager again with his girlfriend. That sweet torture that made everything frantic pants half down, shirts half off, crushed together on a frantic ride to the finish line.

They end up coming within minutes of each other. It is Eames who crests first, the hand holding his pants away from his body darting up to squeeze at the base of his cock unmercifully to stem the ejaculate. He groans and bucks in his seat all the same. Somehow it goes unheard by Ariadne as she squirms and moans on his bed.  He hasn’t even told her to curve her fingers up, and can’t see the point in it at this moment.

Her shadow tells him everything he needs to know. She’s figured out just what is pleasing her for now. Exploration and experimentation can happen later. Right now she is half way to paradise. Her hand is thrusting, hips moving to meet those questing fingers. Her other arm moves in a fashion that gives away the frantic circling of fingers on her clit and all at once, everything stops for a split second. After that her back and hips are arching off the bed and she is crying out a wordless beautiful finish.  Her hips grind against the air for a moment before she falls boneless to the comforter.

That moment, when her hands leave her, and she is twitching, is when Eames realizes a mistake he’s made. They’re in his hotel room. She just fucked herself on his bed. On his pillows, he’d have to smell her, the sweet smell of her perfume, the musky fragrant of her release. All of it, he would be surrounded and drive mad all night by the reminder of this lesson.

Groaning again, Eames heaves himself out of the chair.  He duck walks to the bathroom, situated on the far side of his bed, and flicks on the low light. It illuminates the little Greek girl on his bed. She is all sun kissed skin, with pretty pink nipples still hard as glass; her legs seem to go on forever now that she is nude. Her chest heaves, stomach going concave with each breath. Her cheeks and lips are reddened beautifully and her eyes are closed for the duration of his perusal.

The forger makes quick work of cleaning up. Even so, when he emerges from the bathroom, slightly rumpled but mostly put together, she is lightly dozing, curled up on her side in the comforter. It is sweet to see, barring her nudity.

It is not the first time in the last few days that Eames calls Daniel a fucking idiot in his head. Within the same breath he praises the man for his idiocy, because now that little beauty is his. For as long as he could keep her interest, she was his.


	4. The Wonders of Modern Technology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using this for the topic of NaNoWriMo is ridiculously helpful. Not only am I getting this written, and with a hopefully better focus on the actual prompt, it will be finished hopefully by the end of the month!

The next time Ariadne gets to talk to Eames, is a week later. He got a call from Mombasa – Yusuf of all people – saying they had a job for him. He was one of the best forgers in the business, and this was described as a hell of a job. Callum made his departure known to the lithe woman he was currently attached to and left on the next flight out.

To say Ariadne was disappointed was an understatement. Part of her had hoped, in the moment she made the proposal to Eames, for a night of wild sex that would somehow lay out all the answers. Just a single night that would give her the ability to be a smoldering seductress with little effort. Now, she wanted her nights to be filled with little lessons and Eames dutifully teaching them to her.  It was vexing to have him ripped away by the promise of money and a good opportunity to forge.

Not that the Architect could blame him. She desperately missed the less than legal playground pasivs provided. The feeling of pure creation going on around her – it was intoxicating and addicting.

So she was stretched on her bed after a rather dull meeting with her clients, a two-story house, very cookie cutter and white fence type of assignment, and missing Callum. Which was strange, because she’d made out with him twice, stayed in with him eating take out once, brought him to Roberto’s and gone to dinner. The man had never touched her. There had been no sex. Yet, she couldn’t shake the need to talk to him.

Her phone is on the charger and she reaches blindly for it, hitting the buttons she’s got more than memorized on the touch screen. His number is up and dialed before the phone gets to her ear. One ring, two, three and she’s about to give up because five hits his voice mail when he picks up.

“You have excellent timing, Dove.”

“It was luck.” She replies, amusement dripping from her words.

“Lot of luck then. You should come to Dubai with me, fantastic casinos there, and I always need an extra bit of luck.”

“I bet you say that to all your women.”

“Just the ones I really like. So, tell me, poppet, what has you calling me at this rather late hour?”

Ariadne groans, she’d forgotten about the time difference. Hadn’t even taken it into consideration. “Shit, I’m sorry. I can call you later.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Wasn’t sleeping, just got out of the warehouse, winding down. You caught me act the perfect moment, truth be told.” She can hear the creaking of the hotel bed as Eames settles his weight on it on the other end of the line.

“I just had the most boring meeting of my life. But, that isn’t why I called.”

“Thank god for that.”

“Ass. I called because… I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You do know how to flatter a man, Ariadne. It’s only been a week. Is my presence that intoxicating for you?” He sounds amused, smug even, and Ari wants to wipe that attitude from him all together. That was the problem with Eames on the job, she realized. He was an ass – because he had to be.

“I can’t come. I’ve tried, I wanted to experiment, maybe get a head of our lessons. Problem is, my orgasms seem to be tied to you.”

“Is that right?” More rustling sounds on the end of the line; she has his attention now that much is very obvious.

“Yeah, I get hot, wet, I want it. So, I touch, I pull, I play, I thrust. Nothing. I hit this plateau and I just _can’t_. It’s you’re fault. What am I supposed to do when that happens?”

“Have you tried porn? I’m not being funny before you get huffy. I’m really asking.”

Ariadne sighs and shifts on her bed. “No. I don’t even know where to start on that front. There are just too many types. I _did_ do a search on porn types and it was overwhelming. Apparently there is even a genre labeled feminist. Which is confusing because I would assume every Porn actress out there is a feminist at the very heart of the definition right? They _choose_ to have sex, to do the raunchy stuff, to get into the career in the first place. So – ugh, do you see what I mean though? Too broad.”

Eames has to laugh. Ariadne was an activist and feminist, he’d seen the green peace memorabilia on her walls in the apartment. She was someone who researched to figure out what she liked most of the time.

The forger could see where porn – an equal playground for the masses, would be a grey area and highly overwhelming for her. Then again it was for anyone starting out. Especially a person like Ariadne, diving into everything at once.

“I’ll bring some likely titles for you to start with. No need to jump right into the hardcore stuff, we’ll start with ones with substance, branch out into sex from start to finish and wilder things. If you like it, you like it. You could always do a search for naked men, and see how that helps.”

He can practically hear the little woman’s nose wrinkle in confused distaste. “I will never know how pictures can get a person off. Nudity is great, but I want to touch or fantasize. I don’t want to stare at a picture for twenty minutes with my fingers buried in my crotch.”

He snorts, sucking back laughter. Oh, he’d find a way to get her to open up to the joys of pornography. Perhaps it would take some of the homemade stuff to really sort of turn her onto it.

“So, dove, what would you like me to do. Shall I talk you through it again? Is that what you’re after, bit of a naughty chat late at night, love?” He lets his voice drop as he asks, having noticed her reaction to it in the past. It didn’t fail him now, either. A soft, almost inaudible gasp sounds on the other end of the line, and he’s not quite sure if it’s because he suggested phone sex or it’s because of his voice.

“I…I want to try it. I’ll probably be shit at it –“

“Doesn’t matter. Takes practices. Let’s get you some practice, Dove. Tell me what you’re wearing.” He can hear some rustling and a couple half murmured words before finally Ariadne speaks again. It is hesitant, and soft, but she starts to talk.

“I – I’m in a camisole and a button down, my pants from work.”

“And your hair, pet?”

“Down… how is this sexy?”

“Shush, I’m picturing you. Where are you?”

“On my bed…”

“Yeah? And you’re a little horny aren’t you?”

“Yeah…I am. Achey.”

“Persistent all day. The type that makes you rock forward to ride the seam of your pants every so often?”

He grins at the shuddering breath on Ariadne’s end. That was a definite yes. Now his mind was supplying all sorts of interesting images of her squirming at her desk. Little hands gripping her pencils and erasers, face pinched together as she tries not to let on to the surge of pleasure she just caused herself.

“Yeah, like that. For…for a couple days, Callum. Since you left.”

“Oh, Ari, you do a man’s pride good. What have you been thinking of, hm? It can’t just be the kissing? Is it how I feel underneath you? How the hard length of my cock presses against you, rubs against the soft places and sends sparks up your spine?”

“Yes – god yes. I .. I want to see it, to wrap my hand around it.”

Now, it’s Eames’ turn to suck in a breath. He’d expected to just take over, talk her into her panties and beyond. He hadn’t been counting on her lust making her bolder. Though, he wasn’t going to stop her from talking back to him. Even as awkward as the words sounded, they still made his cock jump.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do with it when you have it, pet?”

“I ‘ve never done, never wanted to, but I want to suck you off. I want to taste you, to have you fall a part because of my lips and tongue.”

“God, Ariadne, do you know the picture you paint? Those pretty lips of yours wrapped around my cock… I’d be honored to have your mouth on me. It can be a lesson, you can lash me with that clever little tongue until I beg.”

“You’d let me? What if –“  
“You’ll never be bad at it pet. I can guarantee that. But what about you, dove. When you’ve got me a mess and got your taste. What then? Should I return the favor? Do you want me to suck your clit until you scream and beg for me to stop? Get warm little mound sopping wet with _my_ mouth and fingers.  I know a few tricks that will make you gush and feel like stars exploded instead of you just having an orgasm.”

Ari whimpers and he wonders if she’s even moved to undress yet. He isn’t exactly faring well on that front either. His trousers are tented and all he can think about is what she’ll taste like. He’d smelled her in his bed that night and been achingly hard for the night. Even after stroking himself while she’d discovered self-pleasure, it didn’t help. She made him into a horny teenager. Even the memory now – he can feel his cock twitch and for fluid to pool at the tip saturating his boxers. She was going to drive him mad if he was left to his own fantasies.

“You, you would go down on me?” She whispers, sounding awed by the fact. Another point in Eames’ favor, Daniel was not only an idiot he was a selfish idiot.

“Poppet, I when I get out of this job, that is the first thing I’m going to do when I see you. Ask how you’ve been, and then proceed to ravish you with just my mouth. I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight for the night at least.”

“Ohh, promise? That sounds like a promise. I hope it’s a promise. I want to see you like that. Head between my legs? That is quite the picture. I think… when you tell me the job is done. I think I’ll head to the salon.” She trips a bit over her words and he can hear her moving around. He almost doesn’t question the salon bit.

“No need to spend time primping for me, pet. I think you’re a knock out anyway.”

“Not doing it to wow you. Doing it so you don’t get rug burn.” She laughs, and something hits the floor.

“A wax job? Ariadne you spoil me. Tell me what color your knickers are.”

“They’re green. I got them from the Pink store.”

“Does your bra match?”

“Yep.”

“And are you in just those now?”

“Do you want me to be?”

Christ the pants needed to come off _now_. Playful Ariadne, shy Ariadne, he’d take them all any day of the week. Why hadn’t they started down this road sooner?

“I want you to be as naked as you were that night on my bed. I wish I could see you, I wish I’d seen more than a glimpse that night. You have breath taking tit, dove. I can’t wait to see what you let me do with those.”

“Yeah? You want to see me naked and squirming in my bed?”

“You have no idea.”

“Do you have tattoos?” She asks suddenly, and he can hear the rasps of a zipper. Thank fuck, the brunette was undressing. His eyes roll heaven word and his fingers rip at his own pants.

“I have several. Does that both-“

“No. I want to see them. Wanna lick them and, god, I hope they aren’t those shitty tribal ones.”

He laughs, low and throaty at her sudden declaration and lament. “Not tribal. Varied, though, and not all gotten in the right mind. Kept to my shoulders and chest. Gonna lick me all over little girl?”

“You have no idea. I want to taste every inch of you. I – I bought a book. About sex. It’s a bit boring, but I love the pictures.”

“Jesus, you went to a book store for that?”

“Where else was I going to go?” Ariadne grunts, flinging her bra away from herself. Immediately her hands seek out her nipples in turn, pinching and playing with them until she hisses.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Eames demands with a grunt.

“Nipples, love touching them. So sensitive, feels so good. Don’t know how I haven’t been touching myself like this for years.”

“Still have your pants on?”

“Yeah – still got yours on?”

“Half on. You make me frantic, love.”

“Good to know. Are you touching it? Is it long? Are you very hard?”

“I am, it’s average, I’d say. I am as hard as nails, pretty thing. I wish to fuck you were here.”

“Hold on.” There is rustling, some cursing and then his phone is vibrating against his ear. Pulling it away he smiles.

“Oh you naughty little thing. Is that a picture of you?”

“Open it and find out.” She squeaks quietly.

“Fucking hell, Ariadne. Green, I love you in green. Best color in the fucking world. “ He growls at the mic, eyes trained on the picture. His architect is stretched out on the brown of her bedspread, the deep forest green panties cupping and hiding what he desperately wanted to see.  Those pink nipples he’d glimpsed are standing to attention, one of her hands just barely grazing the left, her face, cheeks red and eyes shy.

“Good to know. Green is a good color.” She sighs, and shifts around. “Tell me what you’re doing, or what you’d do… please, Callum, need to hear you.”

“Right now – haven’t had you like I want you yet. Been fighting to not toss you onto something and show you how a real man fucks, want to take care of you. Want to torture your poor pussy with my fingers, keep you on the edge with my tongue, get you sobbing and wet for me. How much would it take, dove? How wet are you now? Drenched little fingers, soaked little panties?”

“Yes, soaked, tell me, tell me more, please.”

As much as Eames is providing the fodder, they are both obviously getting off on this. She got off on the thought of it, the promise of days and weeks to come, him on the soft plea in her voice, her shy attitude, how it fluctuates between that and utter confidence. She’s coming out of her shell little by little and it thrills Eames that _he_ is the one to see it. Not Daniel, not _Arthur_ , him.  This is his, and he will treasure it for the rest of his days.

“Going to teach you how to ride me, pet. Sit you in my lap while we’re in bed and let you take the reins. Want to watch you bouncing; let you decide how deep in your cunt I get. I can’t stop thinking about it, how tight you’re going to squeeze me, how you’ll sigh my name. I have half a mind to just declare a sabbatical after this job and marathon teach you the ins and outs of sex for the next three months.” He grinds out, grip tightening around his length when he thinks of what she will be like.

“Three months? That long. Going to teach me everything that slowly?”

“Slow? God pet, that’s the fast track. Could take years teaching you everything. But I can’t can I?”

“Ohh, you can. You can. Could keep me to yourself as long as you wanted if you kept looking at me like you do. Makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. I get so wet when you’re just looking at me.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep looking until it doesn’t affect you anymore. Then you’ll be ready to move on, yeah pet?”

He isn’t sure what either of them is saying at this point. Does it really matter when the woman is letting out those breathy little cries? She has to be close and he’ll be damned if she goes over alone.

“Gona keep me all locked up. No one but you can touch me.”

“Exactly, only mine dove. I get to see you unravel; only my name is going to pass through those pretty cherry pink lips. Show you off, all dressed up and gorgeous, make people jealous to know at the end of the night I’ll be pushing you into a corner and making you scream.”

“Cal – fuck, oh Cal, cal cal cal cal, CAL.”

Her calling his name is the best thing the forger has heard in years. The sweet sharp sound of her coming. Blue green eyes slide shut and his hand moves mercilessly to make himself come. It happens in moments, and he doesn’t care that he’s thoroughly soiled his shirt doing this half dressed. He’ll buy another or have this dry-cleaned.

What matters is the low groan that he hears when he is in the middle of his own orgasm, her name just a low grunt.

“That was – god… thank you for letting me.”

“No thanks necessary. I think I’m going to be sleeping very well this morning.”

“What about work?”

“Just waiting on the architect to get done their levels. My works all wrapped up, waiting for the bow that is a job well done.”

“Ooh, okay.”

“Tired, dove?” He laughs and stifles a yawn. He’d have to get up and change before sleep could come. Damn, if only he’d had his other hand free. Still, was worth it.

“Yeah… might nap.”

“Naked on your bed like that?”

“Mm hm… You should be here. Nap together.”

“One day very soon pet. You’ll be happy to be rid of me after the first cuddle session.” He jokes and again wonders what the hell they’re saying.

“Nah. Gonna sleep now. You sleep too.”

“All right love. Talk to you soon.”

“Mm hmm. Bye Callum.”

“Bye Ari.”

When they ring off, Eames lays against his headboard. Jesus that had been a hell of a trip. He wasn’t sure what to make of her words, or his. He’d gone into this thing knowing nothing would come of it. Those were his preferred arrangements actually. So why was he talking months, and why was Ariadne – who wanted to know to eventually seduce Mr. Right, saying only his…

“I’ll think about it later. I need to sleep.” He grumbles to himself, looking one more time at the picture she’d sent him. Saving it, he puts his phone on the charger and rolls out of bed. Clothes hit the floor and the light of the bathroom flicks on. The shower starts and washes away the evidence of their words.


	5. Movies, Jobs and Returning to the Lesson plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is story has no beta. All mistakes are mine. If you want to point them out, please, do so, just also keep the corrections polite. Thank you and enjoy!

After the first successful bought of phone sex, Ariadne had called each day she could, right when he was waking up and she was edging into sleep. They told one another fantasies, or, rather, Eames pulled her from her and readily described his to her. It was an easy routine, one that left her sleeping easier and the stress that had been mounting melting off her day by day.

 

The stress was part work and part Callum. The British man had somehow become the focus of her thoughts. She was doing things with him – _for_ him that she’d never have considered with another person. His voice was sin and she couldn’t wait to have him near again. That fact alone, wanting him back near her, was enough for her to consider calling this whole thing off.

The point of asking Eames to teacher her the finer points of sex, was to not get hurt or attached in the process. Yet, here she was, texting him good morning, not calling because he had to have his head in the game. Her phone chirps with a peppy “Morning Dove. Go dream of me,” and her smile is threatening to take over her whole face.

This was a dangerous game she was playing. Sighing Ariadne puts her phone to the side and focuses on the movie she has playing. An older film, one she watched growing up. It hasn’t really got her attention. She is too busy thinking about Eames. She should do something wild, and really blow him out of the water. The architect suddenly decides.

Shifting on the couch, arms crossing as she thinks, she doesn’t notice that she’d just gone from berating herself for thinking of him, to planning a shock value surprise for the man. Nude picture had been covered. She even had a few of him, his tattoos, but none of his cock. He’d said it would ruin the anticipation to see it for the first time. In turn, she’d not sent any blow the belt shots either.

So what would she send him? She didn’t want to go shopping and put on a show like that. It seemed… a little tacky. Oh look at this underwear I just bought simply to show you while you’re thousands of miles away. No. Something else, maybe along the same vein.

The young woman’s phone chimes that her reminding her of her lessons for tonight. Since Eames had been gone, two weeks now, going into the third, she’d branched into pole dancing as well as her normal Burlesque workouts. It was a confidence booster, not to mention sexy as hell. At least, it made her feel that way. Eames surely would – _that was it!_ They’d all been working on personal routines for the “recital” at the “end” (it was constantly running) of the class. Hers needed some tweaks and honestly what better way was there to shock the hell out of the forger?

Meek and mild little Ariadne could workout in stilettos that were sky high, could play at taking her clothes off, but had never done it for an audience. Never done it with the intent to actually seduce either. A smirk forms on her lips as she moves around her apartment gathering her outfit for the night and rushing out the door. He was in for _such_ a treat.

 

-

 

This job of Yusuf’s was a rather boring one. Casino owner had something that another man wanted.  Money, Power, a woman, Eames really didn’t know what the end game was, but he was needed for credentials. He wasn’t actually going into the field on this job. Just providing documents and waiting to provide new ones as well as get his cut of the money at the end of the job.

So he’s leaning back in his chair, waiting at the Warehouse base of operations, when his laptop and phone chime. He’s got both set up to notify him when a personal email comes through, business are directed to a different account with a louder, more insistent notification sound. Who was it that was emailing him, he wonders. Not Arthur, though he does have Eames’ personal email (Eames did _not_ give it out, it just happened to be the only thing Arthur could dig up on him that was legitimate.), he used the professional. Cobb rarely if ever contacted the forger now, unless it was for the occasional get together, like the barbeque the month prior. But no one would have need of him, surely. He’d seen them all quite recently talked to Ariadne just that morning…

Sitting up, he scoots his chair toward the laptop and starts the tedious task of entering in the dozen or so passwords his computer required. It was a pain in the ass, but it kept people out, and his information in. Being a shit speller was just a well thought out miss direct that many people fell for.

The blue background of his desktop appears and he’s soon logged into his email client. The email waiting for him is from Ariadne. It is labeled “read in private”.  He debates clicking on it. He was alone; the blokes weren’t due back for a hour or so. Eames reasons he’s got plenty of time.

Clicking the email, he finds a file, and repeats the process of opening that as well. He decompresses the zipped file and opens the folder. Curious eyes turn to saucers as he takes in the little package Ariadne has seen fit to bestow upon him.

What first catches his eye are the dozen or so pictures. She isn’t naked; in fact she’s quite dressed. They are, nonetheless, quite enticing to look at even in thumbnail form. He can see that her lessons have heavily influenced her choice of dress, and why. In the pictures, her lipstick is red; her jet black liner makes her eyes look wider and pop out spectacularly. With her hair pulled up, her neck is a simple, graceful curve he wants to attack with his teeth and lips. Gentle curves that her old outfits only hinted at are now being embraced, _tightly_ embraced. Though the woman is covered, dark blue shorts that are just edging on too short, hinting at showing her garter straps that no doubt hold her stockings, a green shirt open for a bit of cleavage to be seen but covering her from wrist to shoulder, she might as well be spread eagle on his bed right now.  That is the sort of effect she’s having on him. The photos ooze sex appeal and confidence.

Eventually, though, he moves on to the little video.  There is no thumbnail, it’s just a file and he has to convert it before his laptop will even play it.  The moment it starts he desperately _needs_ those fuckers to get back off the job – he has a woman that needs some attention. Flowers. Candy, oral sex until she never thinks about getting out of bed again…

Dark music, the kind you hear in clubs were all the dancing going on is really just a thinly veiled excuse for widespread frottage, starts to pour out of his laptop. Little Ariadne is center stage. The good Greek girl is center stage and looks like she’s going to eat him for breakfast were he in the room with her. That intense look doesn’t fade until right when she starts to move.  Burlesque had never been labeled “wow” on his sexy meter. It had been somewhere between nice, and, why the hell not?

Now, now with her crawling on the floor, dipping and brushing her chest against he floor like that, pushing her ass back against a phantom lover. Fuck she hadn’t taken her clothing off, nothing had moved, but there was a knowing smirk on her face. Was this really the same woman who asked for lessons to be good at sex? The woman who asked to be taught what it was to be a lover?

She couldn’t be, not with the way _this_ woman was moving. Her hands slide against her skin like well-acquainted friends. Her hair clip is the first thing to go, pulled out sharply and just dropped off to the side. Her hips roll, her leg flies out from her body with this interesting little move. She’s flexible; she has some muscle tone he hadn’t even _thought_ she would.

Jesus Christ save him. She was actually taking off her clothes. Those borderline too tiny shorts are coming off. She has on the single most enticing pair of frilly knickers he’s ever seen. They’re grey, silky, and probably had cost the woman a bomb. They’ve got side ties, and part of Eames wants her fingers to pluck them free of their bows.  For her to expose herself to him in the most intimate of ways.

The vixen on the screen doesn’t touch them however, just wiggles her hips and puts on an innocent smile. If she ever needed a side job, Ariadne would make a brilliant burlesque entertainer. The personality was there.  The body was there. He couldn’t get past the whole package coming together into _this_.

“Hot damn, Mr. Eames. Who is that delicious little thing?” The curious, slightly smug voice of his college cuts through the music and Eames’ hand flashes out, slamming the laptop shut.

“None of your business.” He grinds out, turning and standing, straightening out his slacks, not adjusting the half erection he has. If he brought attention to it, they’d take the mickey and he’d have to hit one of them. Not that he didn’t want to anyway, this lot was less than pleasant to work with.

“Go off with out a hitch?” He enquires, tone all business as he stands there, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah, in and out clean. Got the information. Someone is going to have a _very_ fun time sorting the fall out over this later.” The extractor laughs and tosses a roll of money at Eames. He catches it without watching the trajectory. Weighting the bundle in his hand he brings it to his face and checks that it’s all there with a quick perusal of the roll. He only trusted Arthur and Cobb to pay him without a fuss. The rest were thieves without honor.

“Eames, you wound me. Shutting off your girly video, checking your money. You’d think I was a common crook!”

“You _are_ a common crook.” Callum bites out, gathering his equipment without a second thought. The job was done, he had a bank deposit to make and plane tickets to buy.

 

-

Ariadne hadn’t yet received an email telling her if Eames had receieved her email or not. It was an odd feeling, like waiting for a man to call back after the first date. That strange anticipation and gut wrenching worry, especially if you liked the guy. The lithe brunette hated it. She’d been lucky the instructor was all for actual bearing of bodies. She was a peach the Instructor. Very real world burlesque. She wanted her girls to be comfortable and to think of the class as more than just an aerobics work out.

The warm ups were brutal, especially for beginners, but the pay off, the confidence. It was well worth the work you put into it. Now though, her first performance was just sitting in an inbox waiting to be viewed by it’s audience. Ariadne was a wreck. She paced her flat and checked both her phone and her email every five minutes. It was a worse than waiting for the first date call. It was the first _crush_ call. God this was _awful_. Why had she thought this was a good idea. What if Eames hated it? Thought her choice of outfit was silly or over the top. What if it was too understated? What if he thought she was getting clingy? What if –

Her phone rings and Ariadne flips it open without a second thought. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dove. Or should I be calling you a sex kitten?”

“You got it?” She squeaks, only half needing a verbal confirmation.

“Yes, I got it. I’m waiting for my plane. Let me tell you, duck that that was the best “you’re getting off the job” gift I’ve ever received. Green really is your color. Those knickers, though, where did you get them? You should have a pair in every color under the sun.” He rumbles at her and she shivers, sitting down hard on the couch.

“I…I got them online. There’s this sort of website thing, vintage and handmade stuff. She’s a really great seamstress. They cost an arm and a leg but I had the cash and –“

“A pair in every color under the sun, love. I wanted to untie them with my teeth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh.”

“So you’re coming back to the states?”

“Thought I might. That is where you’re basing yourself right now isn’t it?”

“Well yes, I mean I have my job and everything.”  
“Then I’m coming to the states. Might get a sublet apartment for while I’m in town. Haven’t quite decided yet. We’ll see.”

“So you’re planning to stay a while?”

“Yeah, I’ll get local – continental jobs while you want me around.”

“Oh good. Well, I’ll see you soon then. Want me to pick you up or charter a taxi ready for you?”

“I’d love to see you right off the plane.” What the fuck were they doing? This went beyond just simple sex lessons. He’d have to try and step back, or something. He didn’t rightly know right now. Callum just wanted to see the little Greek woman. That was all he was interested in.

“I’ll pick you up, what time are you supposed to get in?”

“2100.”

“Kay.  2100. BWI?”

“Right in one, pet.”

“Got it. I’ll see you there. Take a nap on the plane so I can feed you and get you settled without issue. “

“You’re much too good to me, Dove. I’ll see you when we land.”

Good byes are said and then Eames is left to the hospitality of the other travelers at Heathrow.  Ariadne runs around her apartment actually tidying it and cleaning it. She doesn’t give a single moments thought to the fact Eames had been there before, that he’d seen it in its untidy state.

 

Nine comes sooner than either of them thought, the airport still bustling with people leaving and arriving. There are families with happy screeching children, tears for those leaving, some silent and reserved, others uncontrolled and passionate. There are welcome kisses, welcoming screams and happy tears as well. There are friends grabbing bags from trollies and wives attaching their hands to their husbands.

Callum and Ariadne meet in the midst of it all, friendly smiles exchanged and little sighs leaving them both. It was good to see one another. Two weeks of phone sex and phone calls, topped with that email… Eames wants to wrap his arms around her and kiss her breathless. Ariadne is hoping silently for something similar. However, neither makes a move to do anything of the sort.

“Come on, I actually have groceries and may or may not have made that pudding you like so much.” Ariadne says quietly, grinning from ear to ear. It’s hard to even notice that she’s slightly disappointed in Eames not having kissed her – or hugged her- when he spotted her.

“You made Treacle sponge? Just for me?” He sounds pleasantly surprised, eyes lighting up, wondering when exactly he’d told her about that.

“Yes I did. It was really easy actually. I was surprised. I thought I’d still be slaving over it when you got in. Forty five minutes and it was pretty as a picture done.”

“I am impressed, Dove. It’s good to be back. Mombasa was frightfully rainy. Cairo was hotter than hot should be allowed to be as well. Terrible trip all round. I am very pleased to be back in a milder clime.”

It was as close as he’d get to saying he’d missed her. Missed, the sight of her, smell of her, the physical presence of the smaller brunette. She doesn’t overlook those words between the lines and It makes her flush with pleasure. He’d missed her. She wasn’t alone on that boat at least. Probably not on a few others, come to think of it.

Ariadne guides the forger through the airport with the air of an experienced traveller. Sometimes Eames forgot that she spent four years in Paris. Four years of hoping all over the world to see her family.  Or at least, back and forth between mainland Europe and the States.

“Poppet, tell me, where exactly have you travelled in your time abroad?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been to Greece a few times to visit with my mother’s family. I’ve gone to Rome with for a high school club, Spain as well. I’ve seen London, but never got out of the city to see the rest of the Island. Been all over the states. Went to Cancun for spring break once, not something I enjoyed at the time. I wasn’t my scene back then. Been all over France, and of course the Saito job took us to Sydney.” She rattles off the locations quietly, without looking at Eames. Ariadne didn’t feel well travelled at all. She had gone to school in France, Greece was just another extension of home for her with all the family there, the states was, well, the states. How did you really qualify going to see big balls of twine as well travelled, after all. England was somewhere she figured everyone went. It was practically the center of the universe by her estimation.

“You’ve done well for a woman under thirty you know. Hell, you’ve done better than most people do their entire lives.” Callum laughs, delighted for her. He rather enjoyed travelling. Not the endless line of hotel rooms. No, he enjoyed the differences in the skylines. The subtle change of colors on the horizon.

His parents had said he had an artist’s eye when they were alive. He supposed they were right in a way. Forging took into account the smallest of details. If he couldn’t be a perfect copy, then there was no point in having him along on the job. There was no point to his position!

“Love the car.”

The little silver beetle sits proudly on the tarmac with its hood down. The air was warm thanks to the light cloud coverage and heat of the day. Ariadne had been loathe to put the hood up this evening. She liked the wind in her hair as she drove. Unfortunately that also lead to bugs and such as well, but she dealt with it.

“Thanks, come on, bag in the back, your pert arse in the seat beside mine.” She gives Eames a impish pinch before scurrying toward the drivers side. He doesn’t even have time to swat at her before she’s gone. Cheeky thing.

They’re on the road in no time, zipping through the traffic of the evening toward Ariadne’s apartment. “So, what have you been up to while I was off being a very naughty boy.”

“Work, mostly. I got a couple of jobs that required a particular flare for the dramatic. At least that was what they professed when they chose me for the job. Not sure how truthful they were being. I have an eye for foundations and decoration, nothing dramatic to be seen there.”

“Not at all.” He murmurs, knowing smile on his face. He thought back to the Fischer job.

Her hotel and hospitals had been completely dramatic. All that glass, all the sleek lines of the hotel room. It had been an old Hollywood style inside a modern box. The hospital had been on the side of a bloody mountain. It had been more akin to a military stronghold than an actual hospital. The little architect had _more_ than a flare for the dramatic, whether she saw it or not.

“Are you hungry, I wasn’t sure if they’d feed you more than a snack on the plane. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t.” Ariadne rambles nervously. It was late at night. Eames might not even want to eat.

“I wouldn’t mind a strong cup of tea and something small if you insist on feeding me.” He smiles and gives her arm a squeeze as they idle at a stop light.

“Tea and treacle sponge it is.” She smiles, relaxing marginally and zooming through the intersection when the light goes. The rest of the drive is silent and companionable. Ariadne is strangely nervous about having Eames at her house, they hadn’t spoken about where he’d be staying, or if he’d found the sublet apartment just yet. She didn’t want to pry.

“God I hate travelling.” Eames groans suddenly, just before they pull into the parking garage of Ariadne’s building.

“What?”

“I don’t _really_ hate travelling. I hate the disorientation that comes with it. You rush about to make a plane on time and then when you arrive at your destination, you’re all out of sorts. Did I remember the file on my desk, my favorite socks, my lucky pants. All that shit comes barreling at your mind at a hundred and ten miles per hour after you get off your flight.”

“Did you forget something?” She laughs, intrigued by Eames’ change in mood. Or at least what seemed like a change in mood.

“No no. I never forget things. Dangerous, that. I have a handy checklist, courtesy of the military. I just mean, you get to a place, settle down a little and suddenly all these questions bombard you. It’s awful.”

“Mm. I suppose. I don’t really experience that so much. If I do – its not something that I’m fully aware of.”

“Lucky girl. Even with my routine, my checklist, I suppose I’m just hyper aware of it. I’ve got a sublet, which is what brought this direction of conversation on. It’s over in little Italy.”

“Oh that’s fantastic. I hope the rent wasn’t too steep, some of the buildings there, while gorgeous, are terribly over priced.”

“Reasonable actually, for the couple of weeks I’ll be staying.”

“Good, want me to drive you over after?”

“We’ll see.”

The climb to Ariadne’s apartment is quick and all at once they’re inside.  Eames feels his eyebrows rise toward the sky. This was not the same apartment. It couldn’t be. There wasn’t laundry strewn about or random models covering all the available floor space.

“Did you, clean?” He hesitates a moment before asking.

“Huh? No. Been tidying over the last couple of weeks. You know, summer stuff. It was getting crowded.” Her cheeks heat up as she brushes off the state of her apartment. Setting her bag on it’s hook she puts Callum’s bag by the door. They hadn’t left it in the car, nor the car’s top down, for safety reasons. After all, good neighborhood or not, one could never be too careful about such things.

“Come on, shoes off, sit down and relax. Or go stretch out from that flight.” Grinning, Ariadne sweeps into the kitchen with her stocking feet, sliding a bit on the wood floors, and grabs the kettle from it’s base. Filling it, the kettle is back on it’s home heating up within a minute.

“So other than Mombasa being too hot how was the job?”

“Quick for my part in it. They simply needed a series of papers. Forgeries, obviously, for company documents, nationality papers and the like. I don’t always go into the field you know.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t give it much thought. I just thought if you were on a job, that you’d be impersonating people in the dream.”

“Sometimes, not always. Most of my skill is put to use with paperwork. My spelling is actually quite excellent.” He boast and perches on her chai in front of her drawing table.

“Well, now I know. I learn something new every day.”

“Cheeky.”

“You love it.”

“Uh huh.” Callum wasn’t about to say that he did, in fact, enjoy her smart-alecky ways. He enjoyed how sassy she could be. How nothing was sacred and could always get flipped back on him. It was refreshing.

His other friends, people like Arthur and Dom, they were quite dour. Dom hadn’t always been that way. Arthur was always holding his cards close to his chest. It was hard to tell if the man every honestly smiled, let alone made fun of things. Actually made fun of things, not just making snide or sarcastic comments about them.

“So, dove let me see this treacle sponge. I am not yet convinced you didn’t just go to a specialty shop and buy one in.”

“Rude.” Ariadne chides and moves toward her fridge. With a flourish she pulls out the cake container and pulls the top off with a flourish. A golden and very lovely confection sits proudly in the middle of the carrier. She did indeed make it, and it was as close to picture perfect as she could get it.

“Color me surprised and pleasantly so. That looks like what you see in the magazines. You’ve outdone yourself Ariadne. I’m flattered that you made that, especially for me.”

“What did you really expect? You’re a friend, Callum. You’ve been more than patient with me. Plus, I wanted to make you something. Something you enjoyed and wouldn’t expect. I could have made something _I_ liked instead”

“True enough. Let’s have a taste, then.”

 

It was near midnight before Eames and Ariadne settled on her couch. The petite brunette insisted he stay, that she would _not_ be driving him to little Italy so late at night. Callum hadn’t protested, just laughed and pressed a kiss to her mouth. It was as natural as breathing, to kiss her over something like that. Neither of them thought anything of it, just moved on to washing the dishes that resulted from the treacle sponge.

Now that they were settled, his arm slung over her shoulders, flipping through the channels, Callum wonders about the lessons. They didn’t exactly have a timetable. Didn’t have a lesson plan either. He’d been focused on building up her confidence, making her feel like she _could_ please herself and be sexy. She could be comfortable with her partners without sex.

He wasn’t about to claim he didn’t _want_ sex. He did. The man was practically chomping at the bit to have the change to slide between her thighs and attach his mouth to her until she soared. His mind raced with the possibilities of how her mouth would feel descending along his prick, hot and tight. Could she eventually get to the bottom, would she have no gag reflex, a hellacious gag reflex? These were things Eames had been wondering about.

“We should put together some sort of lesson plan, eh, Dove?”

“What like, Blow jobs on Tuesdays, fingering Thursdays, Eat Out Fridays, Riding Saturdays, Doggy Style Sundays?” Ariadne immediately supplies a grin on her face. She was no stranger to the vastness of sex.  It amused her that Eames wanted to put into words what he was going to try to teach her.

“Might help. So far we’ve covered how to make out, how to be comfortable, how to fuck yourself, and phone sex. Oh, and lets not forget how to make your partner as hard as nails with little gifts in his inbox.” The last bit is growled out and his arm squeezes her closer against his side.

“Oh, so you did get that. Did you like it?”

“Did you not hear the part where I turned into metal?”

“Oh?” Her hand slides off the couch onto his thigh and Eames almost swallows his tongue. That was not something he ever expected Ariadne to do. She was so shy most of the time. Maybe it was because they were so comfortable around each other now? Her hand continues up and up, and he swears when it wraps around his still flaccid but quickly rising, cock.  “You feel like flesh and bone to me.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Aria. Where did that cute little book worm worried about being frigid go? This is anything but frigid. Are you sure you need lessons?” His cheeks feel warm and his cock is hardening under his hand.

Doe eyes turn toward him, looking up at him from under her lashes. She is sin incarnate in jeans and a t-shirt. When the hell did this happen? “I don’t know. I like learning, I don’t feel so out of my depth any more. I want to be proactive, try all those things that we talked about on the phone.”

Fantasy turned reality. His Dove was something else. She was certainly coming out of her shell in a spectacular way. Again he thanks his lucky stars for the idiots that came before him.

“What do you want to learn about tonight, then?”

“I want to learn about touching you.”

“You’re touching me now, Dove.”

“Yes, but you aren’t reacting.”

“Ohh you want the reaction hm? You should move your hand then love.”

“Any particular way you like it?” She’s clamming up a little and Eames reaches out with his free hand to cup her cheek. His lips claim hers softly, and she relaxes against him by degrees until she’s almost boneless against him. All from a simple press of lips. They affected one another more than either anticipated.

“Just touch, love, I’ll tell you if I don’t like it. I can assure you, that you’ll know when I do.”

“O.k.” Her words are soft and her hands tug at the opening to his jeans, growling she shifts when they don’t come open right away. Both hands attack the button and it pops free, the zipper rasping with it. Her hand reaches inside, cautiously petting at his awakening flesh. It doesn’t take much to get him to start to rise. Even her hesitant exploring touches over his boxer briefs work for him. It hasn’t been like this since he was in his early twenties.

When her hand curls around him, slides loosely around his length, he shoves himself down on the couch, deeper into the cushions. She’s warm, and this would be better with some form of lube, but he’ll let her explore for now. Let her get used having him in her hand, get a rhythm going – something.

Eames was never what one would call a chaste man. He had sex whenever he felt like it, with whomever he wanted. Gender – physical or otherwise, didn’t deter him when it came to choosing partners. They were always safe, and always one offs. Sometimes a series of one offs spread over a series of years.

So this, a simple hand job on a woman’s couch, her eyes intent on the task, little pink tongue swiping over the fullness of her bottom lip, it’s new. Not new as in never happened, but new as in something he hasn’t had in a series of years. He’d left such things behind a decade ago. Now though, with sex far from his mind, he enjoys the way her little hand grasps him.

Eames wasn’t exactly porn star, he considered himself average and a bit on the girthy side. Really he barely gave it any thought, length, width, it didn’t matter as long as it reached the important places in a woman. Maybe he’d feel differently if he were shorter or longer.

Those thoughts are banished as Ariadne’s thumb swipes over his head. He looks at her, focuses on her,  not realizing he’d zone out. She had a good rhythm going. However, her grip was a bit lax for his tastes. He wasn’t quite getting as much out of this as she would like. His hips thrust up just the slightest bit.

“You can hold me tighter. You aren’t going to break me. That takes skill and gravity.”

She blinks and raises a brow at him as if to ask if he’s telling the truth. Chuckling his hand closes over hers and shows her how he likes to be held. The right pressure around his cock and that rhythm and his head is tilting back to rest against the cushions.

“Shit. I forgot how good this felt.”

“Been a while then?” She teases, and he notes she’s slightly breathless. One of those who got off on her partner getting off. How the blood pink hell had _anyone_ called this woman frigid?

“Went out the window during my first enlistment. Why waste precious time on hand jobs when you could have a mouth, or better still, a body?”

“That’s awful.”

“It is, but back then I wasn’t exactly prince charming.” He grunts and shifts under her hand, thrusting up again.

“Tell me about it later?”

“Sure, dove.” The words are about as sincere as he attention span right now. He doesn’t want to talk about those years. Didn’t mean to bring it up. That life was over. Ariadne changes the rhythm, adds a slight twist to her movement and Eames is growling. He would kill to get her on her back right now. To slide on a condom and then slide into her. He wants, wants so badly, but this lesson is about exploring your partner. Or some shit. They’re just fucking around now, really. There’s no rhyme or reason to these encounters. He can’t be arsed to care either.

“Faster.”

She acquiesces without a thought her little hand picking up the pace. He is surrounded by her, her hand, her body looming over him, and the scent of her lotion or perfume. He wants to kiss her, wants this to change into something more. Eames boggles over it. Wonders when he became so jaded that simple pleasures stir his ardor so completely.

His hand is in her hair before he even realizes it. His hand is settled on the back of her head, tangled in chestnut locks and turning her toward his mouth. It’s something to kiss her, to plunge his tongue into her mouth and have her hand around his dick. It’s foreign and suddenly their roles are decidedly switched. She’s teaching _him_ about receiving pleasure, enjoying and relishing new things. New feelings. Or rather the revisited feelings he’d long forgotten about.

The longer they kiss, the more her hand slides over the turgid flesh of his length, the closer Eames barrels to orgasm. He’s no flake when it comes to stamina, but the combination of Ariadne, the innocence of this, and the amazing erotic value of it all – it’s a lot to bear. He doesn’t realize that he’s thrusting into her hand, or that she’s practically on top of him. He’s focused on tasting her, tasting the light sweetness left by the treacle on her tongue.  His body is hyper sensitive to her touch. They linger on the precipice for what feels like ages before he rips his mouth and hand away from her. His hand wraps violently around the base of his cock and a startled yelp leaves him as his face turns red, all the way down his neck, below the collar of his t-shirt.

Ariadne wrenches her hand away like she’s been burned. “What the hell, did I do something wrong? Accidentally catch you with my nail?”

“No…Nooo.” He groans and barks out a bit of laughter. “Didn’t want to come all over you and the couch, snuck up on me that did.”

“Oh… You could have said –“

“Snuck up on me, dove. All the sensation and the picture of it. You’ll understand later when we delve into porn. Some pictures or movies just hit you and even if normally you take twenty minutes to get off, suddenly you’re coming like a freight train because that image just flipped a hell of a switch.”

“Hm… So me doing this.”

“The biggest of switches.” He confirms and chuckles when her face lights up. Innocent and yet not. Ariadne was a tiny conundrum.

“What else can we do tonight?” Her eyes, those dark chocolate depths with the slight slivers of green in them, are blown wide. She hasn’t gotten hers, and clearly she wants it.

“I can do the same for you, if you like. Just let me get this taken care of?”

“Oh… I don’t really like it when guys try to finger me.”

“Well, shall we try? I swear we’ll do something else if you’re uncomfortable.”

She looks at him warily for a while. Her chestnut topped head bobs quickly after a pregnant pause and Eames flashes a devilish smile at her. He knows what had likely turned her off of the manual stimulation. Jabbing fingers, spearing her over and over and just assuming that that was doing it for her. He’d take the slower route, with that in mind, focus on caressing, getting the right pressure in the right spots. Concentrate on the kissing, getting her worked up and _then_ work on the penetration. After all, the worst she could say was stop.

That would just mean he’d ease her aches a different way. The forger would be damned to let the woman sleep without her pleasure having been tended too. It was blasphemous to him.

Trudging into the bathroom, Eames makes quick work of releasing and cleaning himself up. Tucked away, hands washed, he reemerges to find Ariadne in much the same spot as he left her.

“Lets get you to the bedroom, hm, pet? Get all that restrictive clothing off so I can make you sing?”


	6. Learning to Love Fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's commenting! I am so over joyed that the new version is being positively received. I'm still working on it, and this is going to be massive by the time it's completed. We should see Arthur and Cobb get introduced into the story again here shortly. I hope you stick around until the end and love it as much as I've been enjoying writing this.

For all that Ariadne had fantasized about Eames hands bringing her to the brink of oblivion now that she was faced with the possibility she struggled with it. Daniel hadn’t been that great when attempting to please her this way. He’d always gone for too much too fast. She had asked him to work up from one to two slowly, give her time to adjust – and he’d never heeded those pleas.

In the end she’s just went with the “grin and bare it” attitude. Always sort of dreaded it when he started to trail his hands lower. Eames had said he would stop, they would move to different things if she wasn’t happy with what was going on, though. She was more than incline to believe him. For all that he pushed, he was teaching her. Ariadne had never been more comfortable with a partner than she was currently with Callum. They hadn’t even crossed into penetrative sex yet, and she was completely sure it would be amazing when it happened. That those lessons would be the absolute best and most anticipated of any they would embark upon.

Moving mechanically, because she’s been sitting there quietly too long, she sheepishly smiles. He raises a brow at her. “I could do it on the couch, but I want you to be comfortable. Completely comfortable. The couch isn’t exactly the best place for that.”

“But when I was –“

“My bits stand straight up and out from my body. That makes getting comfortable fairly easy in comparison love. Please, trust me, let me take café of you.” The scruffy brunette is actually pleading with her, and that is what makes the tension melt away from her once again.

“All right. Sorry I just –“

“It’s fine, pet. Let me teach you that this can be just as good as sex.”

His hand grabs hers when she comes around the couch and he leads her to her room. It isn’t exactly hard to find, but something about this makes it exciting. Like the first time you’re with a new lover. The nerves that just get stronger and make you shake until that first touch comes. Then everything is a whirlwind.

The architect is shaking wen they are standing by her bed. Her hands are trembling, and she feels like she’s just gone outside in the middle of January without a coat. “Hey now. None of that.”  He rumbles softly, coming to stand behind her. His hand leaves hers, comes to rest with his other on either shoulder. Those big warm hands run over her shoulders, kneed at the joints and then slide lightly over her bare arms. Gooseflesh rises and after a few swipes, calms, the trembling does as well. All that is left is a hyper awareness of his hands, his touch. The lithe woman jumps when those fingers curl against her stomach, tickling lightly.

She hadn’t felt him move targets, too engrossed in just feeling. Now they trail over her stomach, up her ribs, barely brushing the sides of her breasts through the fabric of her t-shirt. They keep up mapping out her torso for a while before settling at the hem of her shirt and curling under to pull it up and over her head. Her arms lift automatically as the fabric moves, and soon she is free of it. The garment is tossed to the side and his hands are back. They soothe her and make her blood boil at the same time.

The next item his hands deftly remove from her is her bra. It’s a simple thing, speaking to her sensibilities – plain grey cotton, for once matching her panties. She was all about comfort and serviceability. The color and plainness of the garment wasn’t lost on Eames. He silently vows to take her on a shopping trip. Find and buy her something that was deliciously sexy, so she’d wear it and feel that way.

His mind focuses on the pale globes of her breasts as they fall free. Ariadne wasn’t overly endowed, as he’d noticed before, but she was a far cry from flat also. He’d been itching to touch her like this since that night in his hotel room. Now he was taking his sweet time about it.

Surprisingly careful fingertips trail over the soft skin of her breasts. The forger catalogues every twitch, every sigh. He circles her nipples, trails over her areolas, lovely pale pink in contrast with the sun kissed hue of the rest of her. His thumb and forefingers of each hand close around the peaked nubbins at the centers, rolling them firmly. Her head tilts back to lean against his shoulder. Her hands clench and unclench uselessly at her sides.

Grinning his head dips down and kisses at her shoulder, at the junction of throat and shoulder. His lips pull at the skin there lightly, carefully. Pearly teeth worry a small purple mark into the skin there while his fingers start to pluck and gently pull at her nipples. The soft, low moans and groans that fall from those pale pink lips are beautiful music to Eames’ ears.

Eventually, when she is breathing heavily and her hands are fisted at his hips, nails clawing at handfuls of his jeans, one of the hands on her leaves. It lays flat just under her breast and trails a blazing path to her pants. Expertly, like picking a lock, her denims are undone, the rasp of the zipper lost beneath the sounds of her moans and ragged breaths.  Fingers steal into her pants, under the waistband of her panties. They slide over the silken smooth skin of her mons and a low groan sounds by her ear when those fingers find the damp sticky spot.

Eames’ hand cups her, fingers sliding through her slick against her outer lips. It’s so different from when her fingers were doing this. Better than when Daniel just shoved and pressed in all the wrong places. She cants her hips against his hand and moves in time with him. There is no shame and no over thinking it. This feels good. Eames won’t hurt her. She trusts him. Ariadne wants. She wants so badly she can taste it.

Sharp eyes, the color of sea water, watch the face of his lover. Her face is serene, and plush lips part every so often to let out soft moans and low throaty groans. The brunette woman isn’t quite coming apart for him yet, but they have time. All the time in the world for him to find out how to touch her just right. To learn what makes her cry out.

His fingers put more pressure against her sodden folds, stroking and sliding against her.  The way her hips move makes him smile and his chin rests on her shoulder. Her head lolls to the side and his other hand moves between her breasts making sure neither is neglected. This pattern is kept up until her eyes open, slits of brown and black visible from under her lashes.

“Callum,” she moans, and the thief is well aware that she wants more. That simple utterance of his name is actually a question. He doesn’t acknowledge it as such just yet.

“Cal,” She whimpers and her hips jolt in a more pronounced fashion against his questing fingers.

“Yes, Dove?”

“I need more.” The words are groaned out, frustration seeping into her tone. His hand stills for a moment and the lithe woman squirms in his arms.

“More of what, be specific, pet. I’m doing two things at once here. More of this,” his fingers pinch at her right nipple, giving it a healthy tug before releasing it. “Or more of this?” Now his fingers press against her firmly, and her lips part for him without resistance. The large man groans low in his throat. Everything about Ariadne was pliant and ready right now. He could play at this with her for hours without issue. It would be a pleasure.

“More of your hand. More of everything. I can’t – I don’t.” She babbles an growls half the words, arching into his touch, body crying out for more. She wanted satisfaction, the ache likely starting to consume all her thoughts.

“All right, let me see what I can do. Standing or laying?” His fingers move with new purpose. Rolling nipples and fingers parting sodden outer lips for his middle to delve into the heat, brushing against her engorged nubbin. Ariadne gives a short cry, hands leaving his pants and clenching at his arms.  She couldn’t quite reach up to latch onto his hair, but she could reach his shoulders and arms without issue and held on tightly.

“L-laying. Need to lie down. Going to fall.” She gasps out and Eames’ fingers, hands, all but disappear in the blink of an eye. They’re shoving own her pants and panties mere seconds later, helping her hold steady while stepping out of them. The taller guides his partner to lie down on her bed, right smack in the middle and then situates himself at her side. His hand sweeps over her skin, from pubis to throat before settling there.

“You’re stunning,” he murmurs almost reverently.  Ariadne squirms under his gaze. She was used to being called pretty, labeled as a hipster, or something along those lines. Stunning, while in bed, was a bit new. Hot wasn’t, that was common. But stunning…

“I bet you say that to all the girls you teach about sex.” She chirps teasingly, falling back on humor to mask how his words affected her.

“Not at all. Only say it where it’s deserved. Now, lets see to you, shall we?” He smiles that devastating smile of his, leaning down and pressing his lips firmly to hers.  He licks into her mouth and his hand starts to wander again. He only has one to work with this time, the other supporting him, lightly cupping her jaw as he plunders her mouth. He trails over pebbled nipples, delighting in the way she arches up into his touch once more, and then turns on a southerly trail.

His palm settles on her pubis this time, thumb easily settling between the folds of her pussy and just stroking, ever so lightly at her clit. He swipes back and forth against the sensitive bundle of flesh and nerves, feeling more than seeing her shivers and arches toward the caress. Varying pressure, he finds the exact way to stroke that has her fingers scrabbling for purchase against her duvet. He smiles against her mouth, letting her up for air at that point.

Her eyes are lidded, and back to the slightly glazed and lidded look she’d had before he stopped touching her to move. Ariadne watches him, curiously, lust seeping from every pore as he strokes her.  Swollen lips part and let forth those sweet moans and sighs once again; her hips dance with his hand and it is the most erotic thing that the forger has seen in years. This surpasses the crazed sex dreams that had been jobs that had been his personal rose tinted recollections of past encounters. The picture of her, spread on her bed, legs splayed, hair a chestnut halo around her, eyes so firmly centered on him as his hand plays her like a harp – it is intoxicating.

Stunning is perhaps the best and least accurate word for the way this looks to Eames. Marvelous doesn’t cut it either. Perfect is trite and over used, cheapened by the commonality of its everyday usages.

As his hand shifts positions, thumb retreating so thick fingers may dive between her folds; start to rub at the hot wet little entrance, making the woman buck against the gentle probing. She writhes a bit, clearly trying to decide on the merits of asking for both fingers at once, or letting her lover take his time with her.

She is wet – so wet, and he can smell her from here. Pleasant, musky, completely ready for him. If this weren’t about her – all about her, he’d be begging to slide into her, to seat himself to the hilt and then pound them both into oblivion. Fuck her until neither of them could see or walk straight the next morning. However, he has already gotten off once tonight, and Ariadne has been more than patient. A few more moments of the questing, teasing rubbing pass, and then slowly, a single finger slides inside of her. His fingers are thick and Ariadne clamps down around the invading digit without a second thought.

Growling, he pumps into her languidly, testing her, seeing what she likes. Making a come hither motion, blue-green eyes watch her face intensely for her reaction. She squirms and her lips tug into a frown. Eames immediately stops, and returns to a simple thrusting motion. So that wouldn’t work for her.

He shifts his hand, sets the heel of his palm against her clit and grinds it against her in time with his thrusts. A soft exclamation leaves the brunette and her eyes fly open. That certainly worked for her. He smiles down at her and steals a quick kiss before experimentally flatting his finder against the top of her channel. He drags it along the top of her and this time when he finds that spongy nodule, Ariadne doesn’t frown. Her body grinds down and a low sound emits from her throat. Pulling his finger from her, Eames introduces two fingers in short order, the heel of his palm still putting pressure on her clit.

From here it is a quick journey. He has found the perfect combination of sensations for the lithe woman. That sharp sweet pleasure from touching her g-spot, massaging it, dragging over it, coupled with the thrust of his fingers and the pressure on her clit have a hot tight coil forming in her stomach. It tightens tighter and tighter with each pass of Eames’ thick fingers. Her hips dance, her head tosses back and fourth and she feels like her body might burst. She’s never _ever_ felt an orgasm like this swell inside of her. It’s all encompassing, and rises in intensity the higher she climbs on the road to her climax.

Dark sea colored pools watch as she comes apart for him. The way her back arches up, relishes the soft gasp and exhale of his name, it’s almost a prayer on her lips, his fingers are squeezed around rhythmically. It’s almost a flutter, but  infinitely stronger. The scene is one that won’t leave Callum for years to come. He doesn’t even have to declare it to himself. He just knows. This look of abandon complete surrender to bliss – it will stay with him. Locked deep away in his maze of memories that no one ever sees.

“God…” She whimpers sagging against her sheets as the thick fingers gently withdraw from her. Her eyes, bright but tired, cut over to Eames.

“Not God, poppet, but I do appreciate the comparison.”

“You’re a blasphemous man.”

“You adore it.”

“Mm. Suppose I do.” She laugh and then a great yawn leaves her as she stretches like a happy cat.

“Get undressed, it’s almost two in the morning. You’re sleeping here.”

Ariadne hears no protest from her lover as she squirms about. Her nudity no longer bothers her in his presence, though it’s only happened twice. Eames is comfortable now. She doesn’t mind him seeing her. Nothing in the woman’s mind shrieks with fear her form will be found wanting by the easygoing, handsome man.

A few minutes later, or maybe a few seconds, Ariadne is too close to sleep to notice, Eames is sliding into the bed beside her. Without a thought, her smaller body is drawn to his side. Her leg curls over his nearest her and her arm flings over his chest.  Her little chin lands on his shoulder and she smiles blearily at him before settling her head against his shoulder and falling straight to sleep.

Callum should be disturbed by how easy it is for the architect to accept him into her bed. For them to be nude – or near nude in his case, sleeping in her bed without a single care in the world should be strange. But, he reminds himself; he is teaching her to be a lover. That means they _will_ be lovers, for however short a time.  A sneaky part of his subconscious whispers that he’d rather it be a very long time they stay lovers.

Eames doesn’t pay that voice any attention as he lies back against the pillows and falls into a black, dreamless sleep.

Morning finds Eames rolling over to a cold spot in the bed beside him. It makes him frown and bright blue, more blue than green today, eyes pop open. A moment passes as he orientates himself. He is in Ariadne’s bed. Surrounded with her scent, surrounded with her things. Callum is in Ariadne’s apartment. Where is the little architect then?

Sitting up, Eames scans the room; her robe is not on the back of her door. She’s probably up. Maybe working. He groans and tosses his legs over the side of the bed. The floor is chilly, but not unpleasantly so, not now that it is summertime, at least. Shoving his legs into his pants, conveniently kept by the side of the bed, Eames stands. Starting toward the door, he has the button and zip done before he’s to the door, easing it open and sticking his head into the main room of the apartment. The sound of sizzling food meets his ears and the smell of bacon permeates the apartment, along with the scent of warm air and fresh cut grass. Ariadne must have opened the windows when the started to cook.

“Good morning.” She calls to him and the forger feels his eyebrows pop up. Coming out of the room fully, he pads into the kitchen hands shoved into his pockets.

“Heard the door open?”

“Yep! I really hope you like bacon and scrambled eggs. It’s one of the few things I cook and cook well.” No blushing, no furtive glances. Ariadne is just as relaxed as she always is. Eames finds himself easing into the kitchen and leaning against the counter top, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I do. It’s surprising that this is one of the few things you know how to cook. I would have pinned you for a great success in the kitchen.”

“Really? No, unfortunately, I never really got the hang of it. Not for lack of trying or teaching either. My mom was devastated every time I botched a family recipe. Still, I get by. I only burn the really complicated shit when I’m working on a draft. Even then, I usually set a timer and it’s only _slightly_ burned.”

Eames chuckles and ducks his head, imagining her bent over a floor plan or building plan and suddenly sniffing. He can see in his minds eye, how her chestnut head would snap up and a string of curses would flow from her lips. How she would dart around the table and throw open the oven just to groan and go for the trash bin.

“Lucky for you, pet, they make cookbooks for beginning cooks. Sometimes it’s easier to follow a written recipe than one being taught to you from memory. Though, I’d bet, if left to your own devices, in the right setting – you would nail every one of your family recipes.”

“I won’t be putting it to the test any time soon, unfortunately. Thank you for the vote of confidence. Can you grab the juice from the fridge and then the glasses from the cupboard next to it.”

Following her guidance, the juice and two glasses get set out on the counter. Shortly after, he is being directed to where the cutlery and plates are. Ariadne effortlessly moves him around the kitchen, and soon they are seated on the couch together, nibbling on toast, bacon and eggs with two glasses of juice waiting to be sipped. There’s little conversation, the room instead filled with appreciative hums and the sound of cutlery scraping gently against the plates.

Callum cleans up, years of his mother drilling it into him putting him on autopilot. His hands in the soapy water, he is transported back fifteen years, to his mother’s kitchen. Her bright blue eyes are smiling down at him, mock sternness lost. ‘The cook never cleans, Cal, dear. It’s just not done.’ His father had backed her up on that, standing right beside him, hands in the dishwater like his are now, while he held the drying towel.

Ariadne is drying for him, however, so the spell is sort of broken. His brows furrow. Not broken, this is simply a new memory. Different memory. Not better, not more, different. A little niggling worry emerges then. He was making memories with her, like a _real_ couple would. This would get messy if he wasn’t careful. Eames shoves the worry aside.

“So, plans for the day, Poppet?”

“None.”

“Work?”

“I actually don’t go in daily. We’re small enough I have the option to work mostly at home. If the clients want to meet their architect, meetings are set up and I go in with sample drafts, pressed slacks and a smile. I don’t mind it, actually. It’s a chance to dress up, and I like meeting the people. Not every day though. I like the solitude of the apartment.”

That makes the forger smile. Loved to create, liked people, liked her space too. Ariadne was a woman after his own heart.  “So, then you’ve got time to come with me and see the sublet. We can get lunch.”

Now it is Ariadne’s turn to startle, just a little, and her chocolate eyes narrow at him slightly. “What else is after that lunch? I can practically feel you planning something.”

“Perceptive, love.  We’re going to do a spot of shopping after lunch. You need knew knickers. Not that yours are old, but you should be wearing silks and satins. Lace, something with some color, things that are practical but make you feel sexy.”

“Should I really?” A smirk touches her lips as she listens to Eames’ words. Ariadne viewed underwear as an unfortunate necessity. Had she had slightly smaller breasts or been a man, she’d just forgo it all together. They were bothersome, and often needless pieces of fabric.

“Yes.”

“I suppose this has nothing to do with you wanting to see and take these things off me eventually.”

“Fringe benefit. You’ll see. You’ve only ever gone after cotton knickers haven’t you?”

“They’re serviceable, and inexpensive. I never saw the point in over expensive underwear. At best they’re seen in locker rooms and a few times a week _maybe_ by boyfriends. What was the point? I at least matched up my bras and underwear. I hate the idea of them not matching.” Ariadne’s answer is exactly what the older man had anticipated.

“This is why we need to go shopping, pet. Trust me on this? I’ve met many a woman who swears by the fact sexy underwear make _her_ feel more confident. Doesn’t matter if they’re for show and get seen or not. There is apparently something that just boosts confidence about the whole thing.” Eames shoulders shrug a bit. He’d never really understood the concept, not from a woman’s point of view. He wasn’t into sexy pants for himself, but to see the confidence boost women underwent when they finally revealed their knickers – even before hand, was staggering. Also, it was evidence enough for him to get Ariadne into some of her own. That, and the man desperately _needed_ to see dark blue silk against her skin.

“All right, all right. We’ll try it. If I like it, I like it. If not, it’s back to cotton.”

“Of course. I’m not asking you to toss your entire knicker collection out.”

“Good.”

 

Two hours later, Ariadne is standing in front of a lingerie shop with Eames. She is tucked against his side and her eyes are wide. Where the hell had he found this place? The name of the shop was Wanton Woman. It screamed, to Ariadne, expensive, and sex shop, rather than simply lingerie.

“Are we going to go in, pet, or are we going to stand here gawking at it?”

“Cal, I don’t know about this.” She murmurs to him, cheeks suddenly heating up. For all that she’d claimed nonchalance and comfort with the concept of going lingerie shopping, doing it was proving a good deal harder.

“Don’t worry so much pet. I’ll likely be the only bloke in the store. The sales women are all trained to put you at ease, to make shopping _fun_ for you. Take a deep breath and lets just see. If you’re terribly uncomfortable, tell me, we’ll leave. We can order you a trial of something online if you like.” He wheedles and pouts at Ariadne until she relents with a deep breath. Smiling he steers her into the store, and watches her like a hawk. The first sign of discomfort and he was taking her to the art supply shop he’d looked up a week ago along with this shop.

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Wanton Woman lingerie. What can I help your lovely lady and yourself find today?” An older woman, perhaps in her mid forties, appears from the back o the shop. Everything about her is polished and nothing is overdone. Her hair is pulled back in a clip, her nametag black with simple gold scrawl on it, she wears a simple pair o black trousers and a muted lavender blouse.

The uniform fits in with the story. Ariadne’s eyes sweep over the place a moment, two black iron chandeliers, black lacquer casings on the bay windows at the front and around the door ways. The fitting room doors match. The walls are painted red, and have gold appliques.  It isn’t trashy, there’s nothing truly commercial about the store, other than the fact there are wracks of lacy, satin and silk sleep wear, the underthings lining the walls toward the back of the store.

“I-“ She sighs, and grimaces while gathering her thoughts. Taking a breath Ariadne’s eyes meet the sales associate’s. 

“I’m here to find something that will make me feel sexy.” It comes out a little weaker than the younger woman would have liked, but she hadn’t completely failed herself. She was in the store and feeling less awkward than she’d assumed she would.

“Ah, something pretty, a deep purple or green perhaps, and certainly blue, those colors will look fantastic against your skin, Miss. Are you interested in just sleep wear or did you come for the lingerie sets?”

“Lingerie. But, I do love that nightdress out front by the door. The long one, it reminds me of something Ava Gardner would have worn.”

“Oh, that is one of our “retro” gowns. It is absolutely divine isn’t it? You look like you’d be perfect in a small. But first, lingerie. Do you know what bra size you are, have you been professionally fitted before?”

Eames shifts to the side, watching as Ariadne loosens up. There is even a smile on her face by the time the sales woman – Lisa, her name tag proclaims, whisks her toward the fitting rooms. The forger wanders toward the door. He’d not gotten a good look at the nightgown Ariadne had spotted and instantly loved. He’d barely noticed anything but her in all honesty.

Five minutes pass, and at the ten mark, Lisa is walking back toward the front of the store. She smiles, a light fluffy sort of smile, as she approaches him. “Your companion has requested you work with me on color selection. I know the style she prefers. Though, I’d be interested in slipping a few of your preferences in for her to try. You two seem the type that like to please each other with clothing choices.”

Eames chuckles softly, head nodding at her request. “Of course, did she have any notes?”

“Just not hot pink or animal print.” Lisa remarks with a smile, her hand raises and gestures toward the wracks. “Other than that, the sky is apparently the limit.”

Nodding Eames wanders toward the walls, the older woman trailing behind him and to the left. In the next ten minutes or so, he agonizes over the colors he thinks Ariadne might like, and ones he would love to see on her. Twenty selections later, Lisa has an arm full of lingerie hangers and guides him to the sleepwear. Taking into consideration that Ariadne seemed to have a love for the old – graceful, leaving things to the imagination, simple yet sumptuous, he carefully browses. Teddies are out, however lovely they would look on the woman. It wasn’t her style. Several gowns are chosen, a silk kimono robe with delicately painted scenes along the hem. Tap pans, French knickers, ruffled like the only expensive pair Eames had ever seen Ariadne wear. Those had been costume pieces; these would be something fun, something a little naughty but utterly lovely.  Two longer gowns in jade and crimson are selected as well, and he follows Lisa back to the fitting rooms.

“All right, Miss. We’ve got quite the selection for you to try on.” The sales woman trills and beams as she lets herself into the cubical at the back of the fitting area. Ariadne hovers by the door, her t-shirt and grey panties still on.  Lisa hangs up the selections, five and then hangs the rest on the rack right outside the door.

“Start with these five, I bet your handsome fellow will hold the yesses for you, and switch out the rejects with the ones on the rack. I’ll just grab this –“ she pulls a pair of nude panties from a box, and hands them to Ariadne, “ these go on so you can try the panties without any sanitation issues, and I’ll be out front if you need anything.”

With a final smile, Lisa sweeps back to the front o the store. Eames settles on one of the roundel couches, black, like the lacquer doors, and settles in. Ariadne flashes him a light smile before ducking into the cubicle. He can hear her moving around, and sees her clothing drop to the floor in the gap at the bottom of the door. It’s small, perhaps an inch off he floor. Nothing pervy about it really, especially since this shop was small and apparently infrequently visited.

“So, I am apparently a cup size bigger than what I’d been buying.” Ariadne calls conversationally, the decorative hangers clacking against one another as she speaks.

“Are you really? Is that a good thing or bad thing?”

“It’s a little bit o a boost, I won’t lie. I mean, it’s slightly frightening to know all the things Lisa listed off about what wearing the wrong size bra or clothing for that matter can do to a person. I’ll be paying better attention to the sizes and feel of things from now on, that’s for sure.” The architect chuckles and swings open the door.

Eames’ eyes widen, surprised she was opening the door to the stall at all. Then he takes in the pale tone of her skin – so much skin, on display, and the green that suddenly blocks her breasts from view. The bra doesn’t block so much as cup, lift and cradle her breasts. Her panties are simple, bikini styled if he remembers the designation correctly. The set itself is simple and works for her. It’s complimentary to her. He would like to rip it off.

“This one is a yes.” Ariadne grins, tone satisfied as she dips back inside and closes the door. The hangers clang again, underwear are switched out and this time, when her form emerges, it is just as much a shock as the first set.

Purple, deep rich purple, with shocking white lace. The balcony of her breasts that the bra cups is a taunting gift to Callum’s gaze. He numbly nods at her. The smile on her face grows and she disappears. Quickly three more sets are tried on. Two are nixed; gold doesn’t suit her skin tone, and grey – she wears too much grey as it is. He’d love to get her away from that color for a while.

The approved selections of lingerie are thrust out of the door while she grabs five more sets and disappears back into the cubicle. Close to a solid half hour is spent in Wanton Woman’s changing room. Ariadne is just trying on bra and panty after bra and panty, Eames is treated to ever more delectable peaks of her. His hands are itching to undress her. He wants to map out her body with his tongue and lips. He wants to hear her sigh and shiver beneath him while he feasts on her. It was an affect that Eames had not thought about. He hadn’t really anticipated the fact she would be even more stunning in so little clothing. He _knew_ , of course he knew, that she was beautiful. But jewel toned fabrics made her into something that only wet dreams were made of. She was a goddess incarnate.

Everything was changing for Ariadne in that little cubicle. These simple scraps of fabric that hugged, pushed and hid her from sight, made her feel powerful. She felt like she could take on the world wearing just this and win. It was strange. These were just underwear. How could _underwear_ make her feel like this? Confidence practically oozed from her pores. She could feel it clear as day.

Eames’ reactions helped her to feel that way as well. The way his pupils dilated a bit more each time.  His breath, even for the most part, had picked up considerably during this last half hour. Ariadne wasn’t even sure if he knew how visibly he reacted. She hadn’t once looked to see if he was hard. Chocolate eyes simply watched his face as she twisted and turned in each new set before him. Now she understood. The silk was lovely against her skin – she didn’t much care for the satin, and the lace ensembles made her feel a bit naughty. Everything was _almost_ visible. It was like a secret just for her under her clothes. Well, for her and for him.

Now that the lingerie was all picked out, she started in on the sleepwear. She loved the tap pants, they were pretty, silky and very feminine. The camisoles they were paired with were perfect for the summer months.  The brunette loved the copper tone Eames had picked with these, and it was clear he liked it as well. A little smile curled the corners of his mouth when she opened the door in it.

The pastel set wasn’t so well received. She didn’t like it much either, and did not take offense to it’s rejection. The robe she adored, so much that it was hard to relinquish it after Eames let out a soft growl, and told her if she didn’t buy it, _he_ would for her.

That had made the young woman laugh. Eventually she made it through all the large pajama shirts in satin – which for some reason was just as nice as the silk in her opinion on these selections. That left her floor length and mid calf sleeping gowns. They were gorgeous – all of them. Some were lace, some were silk and three were made of heavier brocade, with a lining in them. They had to be for the cooler months, or were simply for show. Either way – Ariadne slipped into them all, and loved each ore than the last.

When she is finally dressed again, grumpily slipping into the cotton blend underwear she’d come in, the woman finally wonders how much this will end up costing. It makes her sigh, she was well off, there was really no point in worrying about it. The Saito job had covered school, her loans and left an incredible sum for her to bank. Her job paid well. She could afford to splurge on this.

Leaving the room, she finds they chose more than they decided to leave behind. Eames already has the selections in his arms, waiting for her. “Got tired of sitting?”

“I’m taking pity on myself and my jeans. I would have busted through them if I left it even a moment longer. You have no idea how absolutely stunning you are, Ariadne. The confidence you exude now. In those delicious knickers and bras – it was hard to stay sitting down. I wanted to bundle you into that dressing room and do unspeakable things to you.” He tells Ariadne with a dark, promising smirk.

The look sends a jolt through her system. Parts of her warm instantly, her cheeks, her core, her nipples bud and it is a completely new sensation, to react this strongly. Oh, she’d reacted in the past, to similar things, but not with such intensity. Dancing forward she presses up against Eames, crushing the various garments between them. Tilting her head just so, a slow smile forms on her lips and she watches him from under her dark lashes. “Is that right, Mr. Eames?”

“Why yes it is, Miss Papaellis.” He growls down at her, the blue depths darkening to sea green and flashing. It is not intimidating, quite the opposite, that jolt shoots through her once more and Ariadne leans up on her toes.

“I suppose we best go pay for all of this then. I think we should head to your apartment, give it a little bit of a christening, hm?”

It was a wicked thought. The apartment was sublet – someone else actually lived there. A businessman, apparently he was being called away to china for a while, Eames had got the place for a steal. It was a true man cave – like the ones described in books. All dark colors, leather couches, and art from men she’d never studied in school. It somehow suited the rugged forger however. Just like jeans and t-shirts suited him better than hideous paisley shirts, sport coats and overly cheap poly cotton trousers had.

“Oh, I do like your ideas, poppet. I think that we can fit in a lesson or two this afternoon. Maybe even three for four if you play your cards right.”

“If I play mine right?” She whispers, eyes darting to his mouth.

“Mm hm. We need to leave here first. Then get to the apartment. Maybe we should get these dropped off for dry cleaning first. Unless we can hand wash them. Get that sorted. Then, little girl, you’re all mine. I’m going to teach you about oral sex today. The ins and outs of it. How to give and how to let yourself receive pleasure. How to feel and abandon yourself to it.”

“Oh.” She sighs it against his lips, face feeling so warm she might as well have a fever. The thought of his length piercing her lips, of his tongue swirling over her clit -She shivers and seals her mouth over Callum’s. “Let’s go then, Mr. Eames. I would like to get to yours as soon as we can. I am going to be a very eager, very attentive student today.”

“Oh yeah? I thought you were always the eager student.”

“Of course I am,” Ariadne laughs and darts away, toward the register and Lisa. “But today I might take _notes_ and have to have lessons demonstrated more than once. Some things require several hands on run through periods. Haven’t you ever learned that?”

“Hands on learning. Best kind in the world,” he agrees, trailing after her with a laugh. His eyes sparkle, “You’ll be the death of me woman. Several runs, eh? You want to go how many times today?”  
“Many as we’re able to before passing out from exhaustion.” She trills and laughs at the slightly aroused, slightly horrified look on Eames’ face.

At the counter, Eames doesn’t let her pay. He just hip bumps her out of the way and reaches for his wallet. Her eyes get big when he pulls out a credit card. Ariadne wasn’t aware Eames would even _think_ of getting one. It was out of character. He could be traced using that. Locations and and –

“Calm down poppet.” He soothes her as they leave, bags in each hand, his arm curling around her waist to tuck her against his side. They walk toward her car, and she looks up at him.

“Prepaid card, registered to a p.o. box in the middle of Washington D.C.  I’ve had it for years. I reload it from disposable cellphones when I have need of it. Use cash to buy the recharge cards. I promise you – it’s safe. Don’t worry so much.”

Privately, Eames is puffing up and preening about Ariadne worrying about him. The thought that she cares enough to worry, it makes a warm feeling bloom in the thief’s chest.  “So, shall we stop by Roberto’s and the dry cleaners? The brocade gowns are dry clean only, but the rest is hand washable, with gentle soap.”

Ariadne groan, her left hand coming up to smack at his chest. “You know I’ll be buying cotton even with these? It is such a pain in the ass to hand wash clothing.”

“It’s worth it and you know it.” Eames chides, entertained by her groaning and moaning over hand washing clothing items.

“Yeah. I feel.. I understand what you were saying before. About the confidence boost. I’ve never really felt quite like that. Your reactions helped a lot. But the notion of feeling so naughty or so sexy under my everyday clothes is really enticing. I feel like I should walk straighter and that I just feel better about myself.”

“Amazing what something like that will do for you, eh?” He smiles and those plush lips of his press against the crown of her head. “I am glad that you feel more confident, that the trip wasn’t a waste of your time.”

“Like any time we end up spending together could be wasted. Even if I hadn’t seen the light, as it were, about the underwear, I’d have learned something from this excursion, I’m sure. It wouldn’t have been wasted time on either of our parts.”

Eames pushes her gently toward the driver’s side of the car, and goes around the back as she speaks. Bags are deposited in the back seat and he climbs into the passengers’ side. The ride back is thoughtful, quiet, and utterly comfortable. 


	7. The Art of Oral Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got to tell you, blow jobs are awkward to write in a "learning" sense. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Ariadne hadn’t swung by Roberto’s, nor had she stopped to locate the dry cleaners on the way to Eames’ apartment. She was more interested in indulging herself in his body. Which sounded awful in her head. There was more to Eames than just his body, than just their lessons on Sex. She was piecing that together bit by bit, the more they were around one another.

He never honestly pushed her into things. He would lead her to them, clever man, wheedle if he had to, and let her decide to take the plunge. With sex, it felt natural to do as he asked, and even then the British man let her make the ultimate choices. Never did he take the ball out of her court. It was always tossed back to her.

There is a quiet intensity as they walk up the single flight of thirty-three stairs to the apartment. His eyes are on her, and hers on him. She sweeps her eyes over his jean-clad legs, quietly fantasizes about what he will taste like. Giddiness rises up in her – today she will finally learn. It will be different than kissing, than touching. Those things were intimate, decidedly so, but this was a whole other league. It felt like some great wall was coming down between them.

As the key turns, Ariadne leans against the wall, chocolate eyes dark, almost black, with want. The announcement of what today’s lesson would be, in public no less, had a distinct effect on her. She was itching to get him behind closed doors. Ravenous, a little wild, this was a side of the lithe girl that Eames had never seen.

He delighted in it, watching her watching him. Her body was tense, ready to strike. The lesson would get out of hand today. The forger had already guessed and accepted that fact. The ready way she leaned toward him, the way her nose flared to breath him in.

Responses that all humans had when their mates – or chosen partners, announced they wanted or intended to have some form of sex. Pheromones ramped up, bodies heated up so their scents could more readily be detected. The body readied itself to accept the other, on a primal level, before physicality started. It was another part of this wild dance. One that had gone one for decades, millennia. Since time began really, the reproduction dances. Even if that wasn’t his and Ariadne’s aim, that was the dance they were dancing.

He lets them inside, and Ariadne follows him like a caged tiger. She barely lets her eyes settle on the room. She’d barely looked at it this morning. This morning, though, she was worried about the trip to the lingerie store. Now, she was intent on him. Her prey, her chosen partner, and every line in her body right now screamed pounce.

“All right, Ariadne. Now, which shall I teach you first? Shall we go over how to use your mouth on a man? How to drive me insane and put me at your mercy?” Eames purposely pitches his voice to the level that makes Ariadne shiver. He’s been around her long enough now to have identified it, and use it to his advantage.

His lover does not disappoint. Her lips part slightly to suck in a deep breath, and her eyes widen, a subtle tremor wracking her form. Crowding into her space, driving her back against a wall in the entryway, while kicking the door closed, Eames smirks down at her. He feels predatory, and just as wild as she looks, just as tightly wound no doubt.

“Come on, love, which is it. Ladies first?”

That makes her laugh softly, an airy tone to it that usually isn’t present. “Technically both options is ladies first, Mr. Eames. If I go down on you, my lesson is being taught, the hands on portion, if you go down on me, then I receive first. “ Her hands raise and settle on his chest as she utters the words softly, so he has to lean farther into her space. Dragging them down and hooking her little fingers into his waistband, she licks her lips, watching as his eyes dart down to her mouth. She was getting better at this, she notes, with a wicked smirk, “So, Mr. Eames, I think, I want to learn before I receive. I want to take notes, remember? I can’t do that when you’ve melted my brain into a puddle of lust.”

“Duly noted, Miss Papaellis.” He pushes away from her and gives her a slow once over with his eyes. That jolt of electricity flows through her, and she stretches away from the wall a bit. It’s a strange move, not one she really thinks about, but his eyes linger on her hips, the slice of skin that she has exposed, and sweep up to her face.

“Come on, school girl, let’s get you a lesson.” Rumbling, Callum turns, dragging a hand through his golden brown locks and starting into the apartment proper. It’s a big place, nice big living room, and kitchen with a breakfast bar, guest room, master bedroom, and two bathrooms. He doesn’t stop at the guest room, no need, when the apartment is technically his for the month, and stops at the foot of the king sized bed.

Her nose wrinkles a little. This place doesn’t smell like Eames, and so it is odd, since a bedroom should smell like its occupant. Keen brown eyes take a sweep, note the headboard is solid and leather, that there is a sky light, and that the solidly built man she’s sort of sleeping with, is perched on the end of the bed.

“Come here, pet.” He beckons her quietly, not reaching out with anything but his eyes.

Her feet move her forward as if in a dream. A command from him and she’s moving, that would have pissed her off, should have pissed her off. Shouldn’t it? Maybe it is just Eames. It must be, he’d never demand things of her.  She appreciated that about him, about these lessons. More than words could give voice to.

The brunette slip of a woman is standing right in front of him within moments, and his big eyes are staring at her intensely. This was supposed to be about him, wasn’t it? She tilts her head to the side, eyebrow rising up. “Shouldn’t you be losing your clothes, Mr. Eames? I do believe that I wanted my lesson first.”

“Pushy, aren’t you sprite?” He chuckles and leans back, fingers working open his pants with deft, easy movements. Standing up he shoves them down his lean legs, leaner than one would think for a man who’d breached his thirties just the year before.  Though perhaps not, thirty was the new twenty if you believed the magazines. His legs are exposed bit-by-bit, shorts gone as well, his lower half exposed. Somehow that makes him look more vulnerable to Ariadne as he settles back down onto the bed, reclining on his elbows.

Chocolate pools slide over his form appreciatively. He wasn’t any softer now than he had been when they met. For all that his cloths made him _look_ soft and pudgy, he wasn’t. The V of his hips is defined, and her hand reaches out of it’s own volition to push up his shirt a bit. A tight set of abdominal muscles is revealed, bunched slightly, jumping at her touch.

“See something you like, Aria?”

“I see _a great deal_ that I like, Callum,” Ariadne murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet his. She shifts between his legs, kneels down between them, laughing as her knees meet the floor – cushioned by Eames’ pants.

“So, dear teacher, how do I do this? Hand and mouth? Mouth only? Tongue only? What’s the best approach?” Her smile is easy and teasing, waiting for his answer, the instructions on how to best work him with her mouth.

“Well, we’ll look at it clinically shall we? Currently I’m only at half-mast, “ Eames drawls in his light accent, the vowels washing over her pleasantly, his eyes flashing mischievously as he speaks.  “Half-mast can be handled a number of ways. You can manually stimulate until a full erection is achieved, or you can let your mouth do the work, a combination of the two. You could make out, grind, whatever really gets you both off. A good grab and jerk of both cocks usually works best for _me_.”

Ariadne’s mouth falls open in mild surprise. “You’ve given head before, to men?” Her head tilts as she looks at him.

“I have, is that a problem?”

“No not a problem. Not even really an issue, you just didn’t strike me as bi-sexual. Which, I mean. I’m saying this wrong.” Her cheeks flush and she looks down, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it. I play that sort f thing rather close to the chest. Like cards. I don’t like people knowing what I’ve got until I’m sure of what they’ve got.”

She looks up, and a flash of mischievous light crosses her face. “So, does tha mean you’re sure of what I’m working with?”

“I’ve got a rather good grasp of it, I’d say, love.”

“All right. So, back to the lesson.” Ariadne eyes his cock speculatively and reaches forward. Her hand cups him gently and she strokes him lightly while she decides what route she wants to take to really rouse his interest.

“You said you got the movie and pictures.” She murmurs suddenly, casting a glance at his face.

“I did. I wasn’t quite expecting that. Not even sure what I was expecting when I saw the message was from you. Naughty thing. Did you know I was in the warehouse when you sent that?”

“I didn’t. You still watched it though, I bet.”

“Guilty. I was too curious to see what could possibly be so important that you emailed me.”

“I was going to go for something more risky. I was going to video tape myself…having a bit of alone time.” Her cheeks flush darker and she lens forward, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. It didn’t do much, felt nice, but that was about all the forger was really getting out of it. Her words though, make him twitch.

“You were going to send me home made porn? Really?”

“Thought about it. Chickened out in the end. We’ve not traded pictures quite like that before. I didn’t want to jump the gun with that. Sending a video of my fingers buried in my quim seemed like jumping the gun.”

“Oh but I would have really loved that,” Callum groans, thinking about it. Ariadne grins and bites lightly at his pulse point on his thigh. His legs open more without any thought. Her little hand is squeezing him lightly while stroking him now and the home porn gets a bit lost in the shuffle.

“So I should have sent that instead of the –“

“No. I loved that video. Got it saved on my hard drive. I didn’t know you could move like that. Didn’t know that those classes had a practical application. My god, Ariadne when you were on the floor –“ His hips jolt up and Ariadne feels her lips curl at the edges.

“Now you know why it’s usually a females only class.  Random men just showing up tend to make those of us who use it as a hobby, a little bit nervous.” She replies quietly and she shifts closer to Eames. Her breath warms him as she speaks and he shifters.

“Now you’re being coy, pet.” His hips thrust in her hand, toward her mouth in vain.

Ariadne, for her part, has never had so much fun touching someone. Caressing his length, pressing open mouth kisses to everywhere but where he’s instructed her? For some reason, with his reactions, it’s better than it’s ever been before.

“Don’t worry so much, Cal.” Her tongue peaks out and laps at the head of his cock, watching as his hips jump. “I’m not a complete tease, after all.” Her tongue starts to bathe his skin, hand holding him loosely as she does so. Kisses, little licks, all over until he grunts and his hands grasp at her shoulders to pull her up.

“Ari, you naughty thing.” He’s smiling, and then catching her lips with his. It’s fierce, no gentle pressure working toward more like it usually is. This is borderline feral. It makes the little architect squirm, and her hand tighten up around his length again.

When Eames releases her, he leans back on his elbows and raises a brow at the dazed expression on Ariadne’s face. “Do what feels right, I’ll let you know if it isn’t something that works. Though, to be honest, a lot works for me. For any guy really. The basics – we like the hot warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue feels on the underside of our dick. Go with that, and you’ll rarely have any complaints.”

Chuckling, Ariadne shakes her head, hair moving with the action and settles back on her haunches. Her tongue slips from between her lips again, and laps at the glans of his head before her lips close over it. She works him over carefully, tongue sliding on his skin, getting him wet so her mouth can glide down him easily. It’s a bit slow going at first, but Eames isn’t complaining at all. He’s letting her go at her pace, no rude hip thrusts to make her take it, no growls of frustration.  That makes this easier for the brunette. She isn’t worried that what she is doing is wrong.

A few minutes pass this way, her little hand stroking what isn’t in her mouth, mouth moving determinedly over what she can take at the moment. Eames is enjoying himself. He isn’t exactly the most vocal of people, at least, not when he is so tuned into something like he is with this. His breathing is harsh, and he’d like to play with Ariadne’s hair, but refrains for the moment. Her mouth is warm, wet and working so diligently on his skin. It’s heaven.

Ariadne is working up to a comfortable rhythm when she realizes that she’s got spit on her hand, on him, all over her mouth. It’s gross, and it makes her swallow in the next moment after realization, pulling back off of him and wiping at her mouth. She stares at his cock, shiny and frowns. It was easier when he was slick, but she just…ugh. This was a bit gross, how had she never realized it before? Her contemplation goes on long enough that Eames sits up looking at her curiously.

“What’s wrong, Aria?”

“This is sort of gross.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You’re covered in my spit, and I don’t know when the last time you showered was. I have my _mouth_ on your genitalia and –“

“Whoa, Ariadne. Calm down. Spit helps your mouth move. I showered this morning, just after you did. You do have your mouth on my genitals, but I’m very soon going to have my mouth on yours. Of course there is a certain ew factor, I suppose. I never really think about it.” His hand curls gently around hers, working it over him to keep his cock erect, interested while he talks her off the ledge of a panic attack.

“I guess. I just. Suddenly I noticed and it was disgusting. I wondered why I was doing this. Why I thought it was fun. Why was it turning me on?”

“You’re the kind of person who likes giving pleasure to her partners. Nothing wrong with that, in fact there is a good deal _right_ with that. You like the slide of your tongue up and down my length. Like the similarity between that and me thrusting into your slick little pussy, yeah?”

“Must you be so vulgar?”

“Ob absolutely, my dear. Sex is vulgar. It’s sweat, it’s thrusting, it’s making you feel dirty and sinful and so so good at the same time. There is nothing polite about sex. Can you imagine polite sex? Honestly now, just try to picture it. A young man with a young woman in the back of some random car, he’s kissing her all sweet and then sits up to ask a question. “May I touch your nipples now. Would you like me to orally stimulate them? What about if I took off your panties to pleasure you manually? Would that be within acceptable parameters for this rendezvous?” His artful and theatrical display makes Ariadne laugh. It was absurd. Polite sex. It had a place, she was sure it must, in very specific crowds, but here, Eames was right. There was no room for politeness in this room with him and her. Vulgarity suited them both. They’d had raunchy phone sex, he’d taught her how to masturbate while doing it to himself as well. He’d had his hands in her panties, and she’d had her mouth on his dick.

“You’re right. So, can I go back to sucking you off now?” Her impish tone isn’t lost on Eames and he flops back onto the bed with a laugh.

“God yes, please, I’d not have complained if you stopped, but damn am I happy you want to give it another go.”

Shaking her head, Ariadne wets her lips and just dives back into it – almost literally. Her mouth closes back around Eames and she starts to slide back up and down on his cock. They hadn’t been talking long enough for the previous lubrication to completely dry up, so she’s back to sorts in no time. It’s different though, now that she’s got answers and not so focused on the grossness of it. It was a write off thing. A little gross in the name of a lot of pleasure was worth it. Eames had said so, her _body_ has said so, if the damp warmth in her panties was anything to go by.

Her tongue slides along the bottom of his length, even presses against him, peaking out of her mouth when she she starts to near the base of his cock. Her hand has left his length, settling on his thigh. Now it’s just her mouth, her tongue, and the wet noises that the act creates. Ariadne doesn’t hold Callum down, doesn’t need to. He’s remarkably polite as he keeps his hips still, and his pleasure is apparent. Eventually his hands find her head, fingers curling into her hair. It makes the woman stiffen, waiting for him to start to thrust, or to shove her head down. That’s what previous lovers had done. It wasn’t something she enjoyed. Surprisingly, Eames seems to know that. He simply cards through her hair, his cock twitches in her mouth, but he lets her do her thing.

“Tighten your lips love.”

She does as he asks, seals around him and continues on. It makes him grunt and he twitches again. Her hips shift and her fingers dig lightly into his thighs. The slide back and forth, his taste, subtle and male on her tongue, it was very sexy. Even the slick – provided by her mouth- was sexy. It was speaking to her on a completely subconscious level. She wanted his pleasure, to see it, to hear it. Eames gave all that willingly. Even if it was subtle and she had to divide her attention to really have proof of it, it was there. All for her. This act was for her as much as it was for him.

If Ariadne hadn’t enjoyed it, not told him she liked it. Eames likely would have buttoned himself back up and moved on. But he hadn’t. He’d just talked her through her worries, and let her go back to it without pressuring her to. Her mouth speeds up. He’d not once put any sort of pressure into this act. The man certainly wanted the pleasure it provided, but he wanted her comfortable more.

Her hand slides down to cup and toy with his sack. She employed gentle manipulation and massage. His hips jolt and he murmurs an apology. Ariadne hollows her cheeks around him and he yells out something unintelligible. She wants to see him lose it. Wants him to flood her mouth with his release. Normally that would repulse her, but right now, it excited her. It was her choice. She had all the control here. He’d given it to her. She rewarded him with a furious pace, concentration on the things he licked. He liked when she pulled back every so often and gave his head attention. He liked a nice squeeze here and there.

All too soon, Eames is sitting up, his neck is a gentle red tone, eyes are a bit glass as well and he gives Ariadne’s shoulder a little shove. “A-aria. Gotta back off love. I’m, god, so close to.”

Her response is a quick nod and her eyes flicking up to look at him. Just a quick look and then she is back to focusing on his cock. The easy gliding rhythm, the weight of his balls in her hand, this may be her new favorite part of sex. Part of her has a feeling she’ll be saying that about every “new” act that Eames introduces. Like in a few minutes, after he’s come and she’s cleaned up. Then it’s her turn. A shiver lances through her and she redoubles her efforts. It’s a bit of a trial; she was working him over well before, now it’s just a frantic race to get him that leg over to the other side. For him to really just lose the ability to think and just feel to come like a freight train and make some noise.

Ariadne appreciated the noise that Eames did make, but she wanted _more_. She tries something, something she’d read a while ago in a magazine. One of the ones you get in a opaque plastic from the bookstore. She lets her tongue breech her lips, flattening it against his rigid cock and sinks down until her nose hits his pubic bone. Then she relaxes, and swallows around him. There was of course, a little worry in the back of her mind, would she choke? Would he trust up and _make_ her choke?

Eames just shouts, and remarkably, arches his hips back away from her mouth. It drags his length away from the back of her throat and in a moment she realizes why. The first get of come hits her and she jolts back up his length shaking her head a bit. It wasn’t pleasant, that feeling, but she resisted the urge to cough. Another stream, another and then she swallows again, backing off further. She suckles at the head, watches him twitch and hears the low groan. Pride surges through her. She’s made Eames into this. He was a boneless, happy, pile on her bed, a little grin on his mouth, an arm thrown over his eyes, one of his hands still carding through her hair.

When he comes down, and she releases his length from her lips, he looks at her speculatively. Those blue green windows into his soul are staring at her like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

“You were so worried about the ick factor, and then you just went for it.” He muses out loud, dipping down while tilting her head back to capture her mouth in a bruising kiss.  Pulling away, he leans his forehead on hers. “You liked it, yeah? But you were always waiting for me to do something. I could tell.”

“Every time in the past that I’ve done this, it’s been a lot of thrusting, hair grabbing and just…. it’s awful, it’s really awful. I don’t mind when you arch up, I like that, I like the little signs that you’re getting off. But when you’re just thrusting like a maniac – it’s hard to like it. Nothing is comfortable about that.” Ariadne admits quietly, voice a little harsh as she speaks.

“Well, let me get cleaned up, you too if you want. Though you’ve cleaned me off quite thoroughly.” His grin is cheeky as he scoots back to give the woman room to stand.

She rolls from her knees to standing in a single fluid movement with a smirk lifting the right half of her mouth.

“Never let it be said I do things half assed.” She replies, and that husky quality of her voice is still there. He likes the sound of it. Shifting off his bed, he casually replaces his pants and trousers around his hips, and steps back into her personal space.

“You most certainly do not.” He grins and pecks her lips.  “The en suite is just through that door, “ He nods at to the left, and Ariadne turns, noting the door.

“This is quite the apartment you landed.” She chirps and moves into the bathroom.  It’s bare for the moment; no personal effects have been left behind. Which is just as well, really, it would be odd for someone to leave those things beside by her logic. Especially on such an extended trip.

“We need to head to Wal-Mart or something, you need tooth paste and stuff.” Her hand wraps around the faucet and turns it on with a quick flick of her wrist. Crystalline water flows out and she cups her hands underneath it. She takes a mouth full of water and rinses out her mouth, gargling and spitting it into the basin before repeating the action again.

“You’re right. I didn’t pack any of my things from Mombasa. I just sort of packed all my clothes and left them with Yusuf.”

“Why did you leave them with Yusuf?”

“Lease was up, and I don’t love Mombasa like I used to. I think a change of scenery is due. I lived there for half a decade, need to see something new every morning.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes. I was thinking I might go back to England. Might also base myself in Italy. Lovely in the summer, though I’ll be staying right away from the mountains, if I do.”

“Wow, you’ve got quite the plan.”

“I always have a plan.” Eames remarks as he passes into the bathroom. He nudges Ariadne out of the way and she watches curiously, without much thought to leave, as he splashes water over his face.

“Now, pet, its your turn.” He shuts the facet off and looks at the brunette in the mirror. Her eyes widen slightly and she shifts behind him.

“Really? Right now?” She manages to squeak, noting the predatory look in his eyes. It makes the cooling heat in her abdomen flare. She feels hunted, and it’s strangely sexy.

“Oh yes. You have needs to, do you not? Plus, I seem to remember someone remarking how it turned them on getting me off.”

“Oh…I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes you did.” He turns from the sink and crowds her, arms on either side of her head against the wall.  Dipping down, the tip of his nose traces along her cheekbone, those lips, lips that were a big part of her dreaming hours now, kiss her face. It elicits a little shiver from Ariadne. Him hovering over her, the gentle touch on her skin, he was at least half a foot taller than she was, and he had bulked up since she’d met him. Or maybe it was those awful leisure suits he’d favored in Paris. Maybe those had hidden the physique that t-shirts and jeans were doing nothing to hide now.

“W-we shouldn’t – in here.” She stumbles and half cuts out her sentence. Eames understands, though, and sweeps her up into his arms without a second thought. The action makes Ariadne gasp, her arms going around his shoulders; frightened he’d drop her.

“Back to the bedroom then, eh?” He grins and strides out of the bathroom, back to the dark bedroom. It doesn’t smell different anymore. The architect is surrounded by Eames and used to what it smelled like before.  She is set down on the bedspread with care, but her arms keep Eames within reach. Lifting up, she lets her eyes flutter shut as their lips touch. Giving head was one thing, receiving it – well, only one person had ever tried, and it certainly hadn’t been Daniel.

Apprehension makes her kiss Eames for ages. She is distracting him, or at least attempting to. It doesn’t work very well; the man is on a mission, leaving her lips, trailing kisses down to her neck.  They shift back into the middle of the bed, Eames leaning over her, one knee between her legs, the other settled outside her left leg. One arm keeps him aloft over her while the other starts to edge under her shirt.

Her head turns to the side for him, and her hands slide – one over his arm, the other up the back of Callum’s shirt. He’s so _warm_. It’s one of the things Ariadne adores about the forger, no matter what, he was always warm. She always feels a bit cold, but Eames tells her that she’s the only one who feels that way.

His hand lights the nerves of her skin up from her hip to the underside of her breast. Trailing along the underwire of the garment, his mouth feasts on her neck and she’s having a bit of trouble keeping focus like this. It was so easy to respond to him. So nice to arch up into his touch, let the little sounds building at the back of her throat out to egg him on.

In a flash, the front closure keeping her breasts covered is opened and the bra deftly moved away from her skin. Those warm thick fingers are there, then brushing around her nipple, cupping her, thumb brushing over the peak repeatedly until it can’t get any harder. The dull warm ache is starting again, the one that makes her lift her hips in a silent plea to Eames.  So little gets him so much from her, it’s mind-boggling.

The scruffy man doesn’t leave her hanging either. His hand may be withdrawing from her shirt, but the moment it’s out from under the fabric, it’s pushing the material up, up up up, until her hands take over and pull it over her head.  Half exposed to him, his mouth no longer attached to her, Ariadne feels vulnerable. Terribly so, and her teeth bite into her bottom lip.

“Don’t. You’re lovely, and you nibbling like that,” Callum rumbles from over her, eyes intent and dark still, the color of a stormy sea. “You nibbling like that makes me want to do more than just taste you.”

“so why don’t you,” The challenge is issued before her mind catches up to her mouth. A dark blush colors her cheeks not a moment later.

“Oh, I will. Trust me darling, we’ll work our way through the Kama Sutra – all the books, and then into some of the darker sides of sex. See what you _really_ like. I’m betting you’ve got a wild side, huh little architect. Some deep hidden fantasy you’ve never let see the light of day. I’ll find it,” His voice is no better than a growl with those seductive promises and she barely notices the rasp of her zipper being pulled, the pressure of the pulling.

“Guh-“ She was going to say something, it had been on the tip of her tongue, but his lips closed around a nipple and all that had come out was a half grunt-half moaned nonsense word. Hot, wet, perfect – was that how her mouth had felt on him, earlier? Her hands move and tangle in his hair. So soft, everything was about feeling right now. Coherent thought was flying out the window.

He nudges the other cup of her bra out of the way, his knee notches itself between her thighs, right agains the hottest part of her. Ariadne makes the softest high pitched noise that she’s ever heard pass her lips in her life. He nibbles at her nipple and her thighs press tight against his thigh. He pulls at it with his lips, flicking his tongue over it, her hips grind down against his knee without shame.

Callum guides the little brunette through the dance of sensuality they are fumbling through. The first forays are always like this. New people coming together, finding what works. He’s a little surprised everything has gone so smoothly so far. There have been no major mishaps, he muses to himself kissing a trail down her flat stomach. She’s soft, and smells like lavender and honeysuckle. Sweet and sort of earthy, a bit like springtime. Crisp and new – like paper. That thought makes him chuckle, Ariadne was very crisp and new. He hoped that she never lost that quality.

When his mouth finds denim – loose, thanks to his early quest to get her pants undone, he nuzzles at her hips, shifts around, pushes her toward the other side of the bed, while he shimmies her pants from her hips. She’s got narrow hips, he can see the curved bones, she isn’t too skinny, where it’s painful to look at those curves, this is a good skinny. They’re little hills – he kisses them, nips at them and grins when she jumps, another “guh”, leaving her lips.

Her underwear are purple today, he’s just noticed it. He loves purple on her, and green, blue, royal blue, red… He can’t wait to see and peel those new panties from her body. Later, that will come later. Today, he has other goals in mind. He wants to hear her scream for him. Or yell, maybe even just a moan of his name will do. But it’s got to be profound. That requirement is just sticking in his mind for some reason. He has to shatter her with this, bring about some sort of sexual epiphany for her. His lips press to slightly stubbled skin.  He feels her seize up a bit.

“Shit. I should have –“

“Nah, you’re fine love. I sort of like it. We’re both a little scruffy today.” He turns his head and rubs his cheek over her thigh. He laughs a little when she shivers. The stubble was staying then, thank god. He was a little worried the woman would ask him to shave everyday eventually, instead of every other – or every third if he was being truthful.

Her jeans are shimmied down more and more, so Callum is bent at an awkward angle and finally just gets off the bed to deal with her trousers. They , and her panties, are thrust into some corner of the room once they are free of her sock clad feet. He hadn’t even known she’d removed her shoes when they came in.  He looks at her for a moment, her chocolate, at least in this light, tresses are spread around her head in a halo. Deep brown eyes lidded and glazed. Her hands have migrated to her  ribs, tracing up and down them alluringly. Ariadne is watching him as well. It’s barely been fifteen minutes since her lips had been around his cock, but he’s half hard again, already. Not bad for thirty five.

He kneels at the edge of the bed, between her thin, supple legs and takes the nearest one in hand. His lips light on the skin of her ankle, feather soft, brushing aginst the cotton of her sock. A path is started, his hands pulling her down the bed toward him as his lips lighting up the nerves to her knee. Here he laps at the skin, worries it a bit with his teeth and delights in her soft moan. Pleasure point found, and unlocked, he chuckles and continues on his way. Her inner thighs are sensitive. Her little gasps and moans are more frequent when his teeth sink into the skin here. He worries a deep purple bruise right next to her lips. The smell of her is overwhelming, tangy, musky, drawing him in. He wants to just drown in her, lick and kiss until she is lax on the bed, unable to move, think, talk.

Eames ghosts his mouth over her core, inhales her, blows at the glistening folds and watches her shiver.  His hands push her thighs open wider, just a bit, as he leans forward.  Ariadne is stiff with anticipation, waiting for it. Her mind is racing, wondering how different this will feel to everything else she’s experienced at the thief’s hands thus far. Then it happens, he licks from the bottom of her lips right to the top – and moans.

“You, are savory and sweet at the same time. Tangy, lovely, have I told you how much I love tangy things?” He mutters, and then he is easing her open with two fingers. A soft kiss lands on her clit and she gasps, hips jumping up. He doesn’t restrain her, just keeps going. Another kiss, a little lap of his tongue, then movement lower, tiny licks parting her inner labia. It’s so different, her past partner that _had_ done this, had done it before she was even horny, to make her wet, to get her horny. So she’d been dry, mostly uniterested.

This was infinitely better. Wet sliding on wet, everything already aching to be touched, acknowledged. Cal, oh he was doing a fantastic job of touching, giving her more to focus on, to want.  She’s getting comfortable when his mouth sort of seals on her entrance, his tongue thrusts into her like when they kiss and Ariadne howls her approval of it. She shifts against his face to get his tongue deeper, it’s sort of – well, it’s fantastic, slippery movable, not like fingers, not like cocks or toys that don’t really give. He moves it so much and her hips move with him. Still, Eames doesn’t move away, doesn’t hold the lithe woman down.

The more he licks into her, rubs at the walls of her channel with is tongue, the more Ariadne loses her tight grip on control – coherency. The fingers that held her open are gone now, only to be replaced at her clit, his thumb covering it, making quick circles. She groans, hands fisting into the bedding. Part of her wants to grab his hair, pull him closer to her. She refrains only because Callum hadn’t done it to her, so she won’t do it to him.

Callum is focused on Ariadne. He is buried in her, her thighs squeezing at his head, her hips rocking to fuck herself on his tongue. She is exquisite, perfect, eager. He could list adjectives until he was blue in the face, but lapping at her is much better. Eventually, he withdraws his tongue, fastens his mouth on her clit and lashes at it with his tongue, his hand slides up her body and fingers tap at her lips. Quick study that she is, Ariadne opens for him, laps at his fingers without being told to, almost in a mindless fashion. It does nothing to cool Eames’ rising problem.

Her tongue lashes at his fingers like his attending to her clit. When he feels she’s wet the digits enough, his hand leaves her, and she moans in frustration. Ariadne might have a little fixation, he notes with interest, shifting so his now wet fingers can ease into her body.

Pressing against the top of her pussy, he slides his fingers back and forth, paying attention to the spot just after her pubic bone, the one that make the architect cry out. Now, he has to hold her down.  His arm settles across her hips and he just goes to town. No letting up, just a continual barrages of fingers and tongue. Sea green eyes watch her over the top of his arm, her head swinging back and fourth, back arching when she registers her hips are pressed down. It’s erotic and beautiful and he thrusts against the air without a thought.  This slow burn build up lesson shit is really starting to get to the man.

“Cal – Cal. Oh god. Fuck. I feel, that isn’t, Cal you gottaaaah-“ She feels a new sort of pressure building. It’s a bit like she needs to use the restroom, a bit like she’s going to just explode. Ariadne desperately tries to tell Eames, to warn him, get him to let up. To stop so she can run to the bathroom and then shower so he can get back between her legs, but he doesn’t. He just moans against her cunt and his movements get more intense. It’s like he’s got laser focus on this now.

Ariadne thrashes and squirms, stars are dancing behind her eyelids and her heart is hammering in her chest. It’s never felt like this before. She’s never needed to come so badly and _can’t_. It’s right there, strange pressure and all. She needs to. She can taste it.

“Please, please, please, please. I can’t. I  need. Oh god. Don’t stop. I caaan’t” She’s half sobbing underneath Eames and he backs off long enough to groan out the words, “relax, don’t focus, feel. Just feel.”

His mouth is back on her in the next instant and she tries. She focuses on just what he’s doing. Those punishing little flicks of his tongue, the rubbing of his fingers. What does she need. Relax, relax. Her limbs are tense, she hadn’t noticed. She tries going lip, rocks- yes, rocking. Little movements, meeting his hand.

“Oh god, oh god. Oh God. Cal, Cal I’m gonna. I can’t. oh shit, oh shit shit shit shit shit!”  She erupts, screeching and bucking him off of her. It’s so intense, the pleasure that rolls over her again and again and again. She can’t sit still. Ariadne bucks again, and again, _and again._ Finally she calms, but she’s so sensitive, even the comforter on her back makes her twitch. Her eyes are closed and her breath comes in big gulps. Finally, her eyes open and she half sits up. Brown eyes widen comically when she spots Eames. He has a smug smile on his face and is _soaked_.

“Oh fuck, what did I do.” She squeaks, dreading the answer.

“Oh, pet. You gushed.” He rumbles and climbs up onto the bed with her. “That is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever had happen to me.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Oh.”


	8. Calls from Colleagues & the fine art of frottage?

They had lain there for an hour or more after both had come down off their highs. Ariadne especially, Eames had had to reassure her that the “gushing” or “squirting” she’d done was perfectly normal. Hard to achieve, but normal.  The brunette hadn’t been convinced – so he made her do it again.

That was two days ago, and now Ariadne is pacing the floor of the living room in a huff. Her cellphone is held tight to her ear and Callum watches her from behind the breakfast bar. He’s washing dishes and she is ranting to her cell service provider.

“No, I didn’t make any calls to fucking Mombasa that you can legally bill me for! I have _free_ nights and weekends! Nights extend from 21 hours to 05 hours in the morning! I’ve got my bill in my hand. Not to mention that incoming calls on sister networks or the home network are also _free!”_ Her tone is hot and frustrated as she speaks and Eames can just barely make out the poor technician on the other end of the line.

“Absolutely not. I will _not_ pay for half the calls! I didn’t make them during billing hours! My plan clearly states-“

He moves around to the fridge to start lunch. It’s nearly noon on a Saturday and they’ve been mastering the art of oral sex for the last three days. He’s fairly sure they’ve got it down pat now. There is nothing like a refresher course to keep the technique on par, after all.

“Let me speak to your supervisor. No, I can hear them breathing beside you. Put them on the line!” Ariadne’s voice has dropped to that dangerous tone Eames knows well. Cobb was the one to get it most often while they worked together. Arthur had even been on the receiving end of it once. He did not pity the person on the other end of the line.

“Do I need to go over the whole situation with you? Yes, I have detailed out the calls and their times. Should I give you the blow by blow of each phone call?”

He opens the fridge and pulls out the necessities for a salad and some sandwiches. He’s learned, that Ariadne is fond of egg salad with watercress on top. Apparently it’s been her favorite since her parents stopped off in England with her and the Airport terminal had them. It makes the man smile. Simple, but so well loved. It speaks volumes about the woman he’s kept in his bed for the last three days.

“Thank you. I’ll be checking the bill in an hour and if it’s not fixed I will be calling back. I want your name and the name of your associate.”

Seconds later the cellphone clacks onto the bar top behind him. She is very careful to keep it closer to her than farther away – the sink is right on the other side after all.  His head tilts toward her as he works. “Get that all straightened out?”

“Ask me in an hour,” the irritated brunette grinds out before sucking in a breath. “Do you want some help?”

“No this will be quick.”

“All right.” She sighs and leans her head against her hands, elbows on the countertop.

The silence stretches out for a while and suddenly, like some strange herald, Eames’ phone starts to go off. He blinks, confused, this is a new burn phone, not many people have it. Just the landlord and Ariadne to his knowledge.

“Can you grab that for me? It’s on the –“

“Coffee table, I got it.” Ariadne hops down from her stool and is across the room before the fourth ring. She flips it open and puts the phone to her ear.

“Eames’ phone, can I help you?” It was a little stiff, but she’d never answered the phone for Eames before. The person on the other end draws a breath and then starts to speak.

“Ariadne?”

“Uh, yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Arthur.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had this number. Eames is a little busy right now, I can have him call you back?”

“Why do you have his phone?”

“I’m in his apartment. Do you need me to have him call you back, Arthur?”

“I… No. Just can you tell him I need a forger? It’s a good paying job. Ask him if he’s interested in some quick money.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“Ariadne – why are you in his apartment?”

“Is there some law against it? I’m staying with him for a while. Not like my own apartment isn’t readily within driving distance…” Her tone is warning and Cal shakes his head. Arthur needed to watch his step.

“I don’t understand –“

“Do you really need to? Listen I’ll have Callum call you back.”

“Callum?! He told you his name?”

“Fuck. I will have him call you back, Arthur!” She hangs up before he can speak again and turns with an apologetic look on her face.

“Shit. I am so sorry Callum. I didn’t think. I didn’t know if you’d told –“

“He knows my name, love. Stop having a heart attack. He’s known it for years. I didn’t tell him however he found it. Dug deep do so too. I was furious with that little bastard. My life beyond forging was supposed to be private. He tends to overstep his bounds, that one.”

Ariadne wanders toward the breakfast bar as her lover puts down the two salad bowls. He turns again to fix the sandwiches. She retakes her seat before speaking up again.

“He does sort of have a way about him. Like big brother or something.”

“It comes with having been in intelligence.”

“Were you all in the armed forces?”

“No, Cobb wasn’t, that I know of. Mal wasn’t either. Yusuf wouldn’t volunteer if someone had a gun to his head. Saito – well, who knows, he might have done. I think in our little group it was just Arthur and I. Never knew one another however. Trade stories sometimes, when we’re piss drunk and alone.”

“Oh…I never really pegged either of you for military. I sort of had Arthur as private security or something. Or a special agent. He has that sort of coldness to him.”

“He’s…guarded, pet, not as cold as he would have you think.” Callum says carefully and presents two plays with a little smile. “Been through a lot, our Arthur. But, what did he want. Did he mention how he came across that number?”

Ariadne takes the plates off of the Forger and settles them down on the breakfast bar. She shakes her head, “No he didn’t. He has a job, needs a forger, asked if you were interested in some easy money.”

Eames grunts as he turns to the fridge and fishes out the Caesar Ariadne liked and his own simple salad cream. There was nothing better than Heinz salad cream in his book. Everything else was too fruity, or oily, or fattening.

“I’ll give him a call. If it’s out of country I’m not doing it.”

Ariadne blinks and reaches over two grab two forks from their bin in the silverware holder. They settle down, his fork traded for her dressing and go about starting to eat. Ariadne is strangely quiet as she sprinkles the dressing, still quiet as she takes her first bite of salad. He watches her, chewing his own bite and waits.

“Why won’t you go out of country?” She finally asks, not looking at him.

“I’ve taken this apartment for the month, for one, and I can’t just bring you with me, now can I? Not practical. Plus, I can easily find work within the US if I need to.”

“Isn’t staying in one spot a bit dangerous for you?”

“Not especially, I can cover my tracks very well, Aria.”

She turns back to her salad, quiet again. Something about that phone call, and his adamant refusal to leave for a while has her rattled. Or maybe she’s pleased. Her expression isn’t giving the man much to go on.

“Aria, I can’t exactly gauge if what I’ve said is wrong or pleasing.”

“It-“ She starts and turns, fork half way to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you worry about that. I was just. It’s… I’ve not known you to stay around any place for long. I mean we’ve talked over the years, right? You kept up with my progress in graduate school, got me jobs here and there. I just… you were always moving, Cal. Never even stayed in Mombasa for more than a few weeks at a time. Now here you are staying in Maryland – within a stones throw of me, for a month.”

So that was it. She was worried he was making this into more than it was? Or she was worried his past would catch up to him here. He couldn’t be completely sure. It wasn’t exactly clear even with her talking to him.

Sighing, he sets his fork down and turns to look at her properly. “Ariadne, I do have periods where I just don’t work. Lived in Mombasa for about five years, before that I was stationed out of Sweden, before that I stayed in Russia for a while. I’ve been all over this globe since I got into forging. Staying here isn’t any more dangerous than any of those other places. In fact, It might be safer. I want to be here. I want to be around you. Is that –“

“No I’m happy you want to be here. For our arrangement to keep going. I don’t –“ She groans and her fork hits the plate. “I don’t know what I’m saying right now.”

“I’m not entirely sure either, sprite.” Eames reaches over and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to stay or go – that is the only thing I’m concerned with at this very moment.”

“I want you to stay.” Her answer is immediate, and surprises her with the intensity of emotion behind it. The apples of her cheeks turn red, the blush extending bit by bit up to her cheekbones. Chocolate eyes dart away from his face.

“Then I’ll stay. If Arthur comes up with something on continent, I’ll zip over. It not. No dice.”

Ariadne nods and turns back to her salad and sandwich. Neither of them talk for the rest of the lunch process. They wash the dishes together, standing hip to hip, but don’t talk, each lost in their own thoughts.

Ariadne is a bit distressed with how much she _doesn’t_ want Callum to leave. She wants to have him near by – a lot. Everything in her just wants to get to know him, to have knights curled together learning about him. Figuring out the man who could have whatever face he wanted. Who only used his real name in private within the Inception group?

She couldn’t reconcile that feeling with the fact that Eames was going to get up and leave when their lessons completed. It had been two months nearly already. How long could this really keep going, realistically? Sooner or later, they would have sex, and then it would be perhaps a few weeks more of that.  After he’d go back to his life. Ariadne would go back to hers.

That had been the plan. Even if they never talked about it – that was what they were signing up for. In and out. The lessons of being a lover, of seduction, of flirtation. It wasn’t a relationship.

Eames is confused. He thought he and Ariadne had a good, comfortable rapport. The conversation that just took place was bringing to light how much they were both assuming about the other. Intentions were being confused. Did she really just want him to up and leave when this was done? That was certainly the confused vibe he was being given. He can’t make heads or tails of it.

Eventually, when the water is drained, the dishes in the drying wrack and the two people are wrapped around each other on the couch, Eames tries to clarify.  “Aria. Listen. I like you. Adore spending time with you. And, I’m assuming, that you like me. That you like spending time with me. Right?”

“Yeah…” Her answer is cautious, her body curls in on itself a little and Eames tugs her more firmly against his side.

“Then this is what we do. We continue with this arrangement. See it to the end, whatever that may be. At the end, we can do a few things, continue in a casual sort of way, we can reevaluate or friendship, or we can simply write it off and go on our separate ways. Either way, that all comes later. We don’t have to worry about it now. Right?”

“O.k. I like the sound of that. It’s…hard to think about what comes next when we’re not really there yet.”

“Yep. It’s the folly of many a man and woman, or man and man, you get the point.” He grins and presses against her back, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her hair. That was remarkably easy. Sorted the whole thing in less than three minutes. Now why hadn’t he just said that over lunch? They could have done something afterward instead of just sat themselves on the couch.  His face stays pressed in her hair and he remembers, suddenly, that he needs to return Arthurs phone call. He pats her back twice and moves his arm.

“Let me up, sprite. I’ve got to return the stick in the mud’s phone call. Otherwise he’ll call us at three in the morning just to get back at me.”

Ariadne laughs softly, the sound delighting Eames as it always does, mellow and soft, the perfect sort of laugh in his book; and lets him up. She quickly curls onto the opposite side of the couch and picks up her Tablet. She has a few drafts to do for next week apparently. Her tablet had been retrieved the morning after their first foray into oral, and she’d been intermittently attached to it ever since. Digital drafting tended to make her frustrated. Even when Eames kept her supplied with tea and sweets, she got easily frustrated with the program and the way it rendered her designs.  The little Greek woman vastly preferred to hand draw things.  Everyone had his or her preferred methods.

Striding to the breakfast bar, he picks up his phone, and looks through the recent calls. Hitting the send button when he finds Arthur at the top, he listens to the phone ring. It picks up after two.

“Mr. Eames.”

“Where is this job, Arthur?”

“It’s in London. We have to –“

“Sorry. I’m afraid I’m unavailable for it.”

“You haven’t even heard the specifics of it!” Arthur protests indignantly.

“Don’t need them. It’s out of the country and I don’t plan to work anywhere but on US continental soil for the next thirty days.”

There is a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. “Fine. We’ll go with option two if she answers anytime soon. Why is Ariadne in your apartment? When did you get an apartment in the states? Why is it close to hers?”

“Good luck with option two, darling. As for the rest – it’s between Ariadne and I. There’s nothing you need to know about it.”

“I beg to differ. If it has to do with Ariadne I want to know about it.”

“Interesting. Is someone a bit territorial? Funny, she never mentioned that you were part of her life in anything other than a co-worker capacity.”

Arthur sputters angrily and Eames chortles smugly. Sometimes Arthur read too much into things without any action. This was one of those times. “Well I just haven’t gotten around to –“

“Darling, the train has passed. Let her do her own thing. Talk to the woman for once, and maybe you’d have some say over what she does and does not do. Though I highly doubt you would. She’s a spitfire.” Eames keeps his voice low for the whole conversation to not let Ariadne in on the little pissing match he and Arthur are currently having. It wouldn’t make his lover happy. Especially when it was rather clear that she no longer had any interest in Arthur romantically. That had been established when they entered into this arrangement. He wonders if the unfortunate point man is aware of that.

“You can rest assured, Mr. Eames, that I will be talking to Ariadne. This just doesn’t seem like something she’d do. Taking up with you. There’s no reason for her to.”

Eames growls and his hand tightens around the phone. For all that he and Arthur were friendly to one another, the thin, pale man on the other end fo the phone could really rile him up to no end. “Call the woman, Arthur. Don’t talk down to me either. I have good points, thank you very much. Ones Ariadne is currently availing herself to.” He doesn’t give the point man a chance to retort, he simply ends the call. Thoroughly incensed, Eames makes his way into the kitchen. The coffee pot is cleaned out and set up for a new pot in under five minutes and his ire cools slightly while his hands work from memory. That man. He certainly could get under his skin. Always had, had that knack, even when Dom introduced them on that first job. Eames shakes his head, tawny hair shifting down onto his face. Coffee pot brewing the liquid gold, he moves back toward his architect.

“What do you want to do this afternoon, Dove?”

“I should really work on this, or we should move this party to my apartment so I can catch up with pencil and paper.” She grouses, setting down the tablet with a look of sheer hatred.

“And ruin my multiple chances to cheer you up every time that piece of junk pisses you off? Absolutely not.” He flops onto the leather couch and pulls her toward him. He gets her nicely settled onto his chest and sweeps her hair away from her neck. Kissing and nipping along the elegant column that her throat makes, his arms curl around her  - one around her waist, the other across her collarbone.

“What do _you_ want to do then, Cal?” Her voice is curious and breathy, a sure sigh she is enjoying his attentions.

“We could look into how good frottage can be.”

“Frottage?”

“Mm hm.”

“Isn’t that a bit juvenile?”

“You’ve clearly not been with the right partners Ariadne. You can never be too old for a spot of frottage. Think about it, running down a corridor at work, getting pulled into the brake room for a good bump and grind. It’s exhilarating, and it gets you off it you work it right.” He speaks against her throat, and the vibration, coupled with the gentle puffs of air, have her squirming against him.

“Sometimes, Eames, I think you’re a sex maniac.”

“Says the woman who propositioned me for _months_ of _sex.”_ He chortles and nibbles along her neck again. The brunette finds herself melting against him, and knows that Eames has won. It looks like dry humping ( a much less elegant turn of phrase), was on the menu for this after noon.

“Why dry humping. I have to know, it seems so out of the blue.” It was a last ditch effort, a half hearted last ditch effort at that, to get  Callum’s mind off fooling around this afternoon.

“Simple, why not? It’s a legitimate form of sex. Teenagers across the world are perfecting their thrusting and hip rolling as we speak. “

“What makes you think that I wasn’t a part of that mastery?”

“You were a good little Greek girl. Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t. Bet your parents kept you so busy with extracurricular you barely ever looked at a boy let alone thought about letting him grind against you until you both got off.”

“I’ll have you know that I dated in high school!” She squawks indignantly, pulling away to face the forger. She is met with a pair of raised eyebrows and a knowing look.

“How many boy friends have you had in your whole dating career, Ariadne.”

“Three.”

“How many have you had sex with.”

“Two.”

“Both of those were when you were in or out of college, am I right?”

“…Yes.”

“You didn’t dry hump _anyone_.” He tells her decidedly. “I’m willing to bet, you went from first base to a home run without a second and third in between.”

Ariadne squirms under that knowing look, that smug smile. She didn’t _like_ being called out on that. It wasn’t her fault her first boyfriend had been afraid to touch her. They’d barely even kissed before they broke up. Her second boyfriend got into her panties, but it wasn’t exactly the best sex. Not the first time, and it hadn’t improved after that. Daniel was a bit better, but apparently she was completely clueless. She huffs in an irritated fashion and eyes Eames.

“So. You’re going to what? Lay me back and thrust against me until one of us gets something out of it?”

“No, not exactly. You’re going to move your hips; I’m going to move my hips. There’s going to be groping, kissing maybe even some dirty conversation. It’s sex, but it’s sex with your clothes on. Just as valid as penetration.” Callum defends the act with fervor and Ariadne is thoroughly confused.

“But…it’s just a bunch of grinding!” She protests. Eames sighs and shifts on the couch, pulling her over to him.  

“How about, little miss judgemet, you _feel_ instead of think, hm?” His voice drops to that rumbly tone Ariadne loves and she shivers.   
“You’re big on feeling, aren’t you?”

“Got to be when faced with people who don’t want to listen.” Callum snarks at her, grinning when she blushes. He had her there, she so often was asking him _why_ about the things they did. Mostly it just came down to: this feels good, why shouldn’t we do it. Ariadne ducks her head, chestnut tresses falling around her face.

“It’s just… It’s sex. I didn’t think there was so much to it. I didn’t think all this fooling around was a part of it.”

“Oh, dove. I’m not chastising you. Asking questions, getting the details, that’s just what you do. As an architect you need to know every little thing or something in your creations will go wrong – happens to be what forgers do, too. I get it. But with sex, it’s characterized as a lot of little things, that lead up to this one act in most people’s minds. It’s more than that. It’s all about our bodies and what they like. It’s sensation, it’s pleasure, it can be love, it can just be fun, and it’s an amorphous thing that shapes around the two or three of four people involved in the act. You can’t have all the details or it becomes dull. Lack luster, not interesting, a chore. Thus, the reason I always tell you to _feel_ and not _think._ Our brains may be the greatest of sex organs, but they can also catch us up. Especially if we think too much.”

Ariadne looks up at Callum, partially in wonder. When had he become so philosophical about sex of all things? It’s impressive, the way he lays it all out for her like that. It was all a balancing act. Too much and you lose the arousal factor, too little and it’s not enough. She often erred on the side of too much it seemed. He kept her within the “just right” zone.

Leaning forward her lips brush against his. A ghostly kiss, like that first night in California. “Look at you, you should have been a sex therapist, Callum. It’s your hidden talent.” She teases, thought the words are sincere. He’s good at this, teaching, observing, pointing out where people went wrong.

“No, I’m good at reading _you_ , poppet. I’ve been around you for a while; I can see when you start to seize up now. I know the pitfalls of your sexual mind. I rather _like_ your sexual mind anyway. Best I get to know it very well to keep you interested, hm?”

Ariadne chuckles and shifts in his hold so she is sitting astride his lap, pressing against him. Their touching from shoulders to hips and there is nothing at all awkward or nerve wracking about it. It’s comfortable, normal, and familiar.  For all that they spend little time actually touching one another, his form is a welcome feeling against hers.

“You keep me interested without trying. I doubt very much that is suddenly going to change, Cal.” The declaration is soft and those barely there kisses start up again. This time, neither party makes any effort to continue their conversation. It had interrupted their planned activities twice now. Time to let it lie and immerse themselves in one another.

The ghost kisses, quick and light presses of lips against their counterparts, do not satisfy Eames or his little woman for long. Gradually, exercising their willpower, they let the kisses turn from innocent to blistering. Teeth appear to nip and tug at lower lips. Tongues follow behind to soothe the slight sting that may be caused. Lips work open, the pressure ever increasing.

It’s a dance that both know well enough by now for their to be no awkward mishaps. There’s no bumping of noses, no clacking of teeth. Movements are almost ingrained in their muscle memory. Ariadne doesn’t enjoy being bitten, but little nibbles are all right. Callum likes the stinging bites. The ones that make him grunt and shift away.

Ariadne likes to keep her hands on his chest or curl her arms around his shoulders to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Eames favors one hand buried in her fragrant hair – usually smelling of something floral. Today it’s spicy – his shampoo. It makes him push the kissing farther. His nips border on bites because something primal is telling him that his lover is really his. She smells like him – has been in his apartment all day. _His_.

The lithe woman on the receiving end of his more primal kisses, is drowning. The difference is slight, but enough to take her breath away. Each kiss takes a little more from her. Her body sags against his and her hands clutch at his shirt. When they do finally leave one another’s mouths, they leave behind bright red lips, puffed up and sensitive.

Ariadne takes this moment to attack Eames. Her lips and teeth map out his jaw, she catches his earlobe between her teeth when she comes to it. Just a single little tug enough to make him jump beneath her. It is released moments later, a kiss and lick a parting farewell. His neck is not left so easily. The sweet spot just below his ear, she bites and sucks at relentlessly. Cal groans, his fingers tighten on the curve of her waist. He is going to leave marks, and distantly hopes that he won’t leave bad ones. Poor thing, she bruised like a peach some days. Her teeth dig into the meat of his neck and the worry flees, a groan sounding his defeat as he goes lax under her.  Cal tilts his head to the side for her, the chorded muscles on display now.

His lover leaves no spot un-tasted, no sweet spot un-tortured. He is a mess when she nudges and nuzzles at him, trying to get him to turn his head. His cock is as hard as steel and the tawny haired forger is positive the determined little woman hasn’t yet noticed. As he turns his head, her lips and teeth attaching themselves within moments to the mirroring pleasure zones, his hands push her down more firmly onto his lap. A gasp sounds, her mouth leaves his neck and he grins dangerously. Now he’ll have revenge for that sweet torture.

Ariadne isn’t sure what just happened. One second Eames was just lying placidly under her, the next he his thrusting up against her. She can clearly feel the hardness of him, the way he grinds purposefully against her. It is more enticing than she gave the act credit for. Though, she isn’t sure if it’s because Eames is trying to fuck her through four layers of cloth, or the alternating light and firm caresses.

Regaining a bit of composure, mind on the feelings, on getting and giving more, Ariadne rolls her hips down to meet his roll up. The result is more than pleasant. More than just nice, a soft moan bubbles out of her throat. Oh, this was good. Not as good as other things – but good. She could work with this.

His neck forgotten now, Ariadne widens the cradle that her legs have made so she can sit more completely on Eames. He is shifting to lie on the couch and it’s like she’s riding him with all their clothes on. It’s good. The feeling is good. The grind against her core, the rasping of fabric against her clit, it’s very good, keeps snatching her breath away in quick little movements. But, she wants more. His big hands cupping her breasts, his skin on hers, she wants that. Can they do that? Be naked and still do this. Not actual sex, yet so close they could both taste it.

Her hands push at his chest insistently. “Eames.”

“What, Dove?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” His hips pause in their movements, but it doesn’t much matter to Ariadne. She simply grinds down on him with a purpose, drawing a groan from him.

“I said, take off your clothes. It’s good like this, but I’m willing to bet, slick everywhere, the sliding, and the grinding. God I bet we’ll come like fright trains.”

The way she utters the words, the edge of a moan hinted at each time she starts talking again, coupled with the way she doesn’t let up the rolling grind down onto his length takes the breath right out of Callum. She had been so adamant that this wouldn’t be for her just minutes prior. All that had come out of her was doubt, and now here she was, a small hedonistic goddess asking for more- for something riskier. He doesn’t need to be asked a third time, he shifts and his shirt is up and over his head with a simple move.

The answering smile is reward enough, though her fingers sliding over his stomach, tracing the muscles so gently, with such intent – that’s pretty damn rewarding too. “You’re wearing too much, Ariadne. The shirt, at least.”

“Tit for tat?”

“Sounds like a fucking good idea to me.” Her hot little hands leave him, and Eames mourns the loss. It is a short mourning, because her often ink stained finger tips are curling under her tank top, lifting it, exposing the pale skin of her abdomen to his eyes and greedy hands. Her face is hidden and bra exposed and then it’s off, flung to the ground, her hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous,” he breaths, hands sliding over the curve of her waist, and he half sits up to flick open the catch on her bra. It opens with a snap, and Ariadne shrugs it off. Those plump breasts, just a handful, enough for him to enjoy and get a good grip on, are freed. The cool air of the room puckers her nipples and he smiles, hands migrating to them, thumbs playing around her areolas before swiping over the buds. The whole time her hips haven’t stopped that rocking grind, and the larger ones under her have picked up the rhythm.

The idea was a sound one in Eames’ book. Naked would be fantastic. He hadn’t actually thought about how it would be to just slide his cock back and fourth between her sodden folds, rub at her clit that way, see her fall apart. It would be heady. He hopped it would be at least.

“Pants – Cal, your pants. Take them off.” Ariadne’s voice is low and heavy, her back arching toward his hands, thrusting the petite globes forward. He loves the sight of her, rising and falling just enough to make the picture perfect.

“You’re in such a rush, pet. Where’s the fire?”

“Inside. It’s inside, need you naked for it to stop smoldering and really roar,” she groans, and the poetry of that phrase makes Eames chuckle.

She drops down onto him with particular force and rotates her hips just right to cut the chortle short. “Pants, off, now.”

“Then you’ve, hng, you’ve got to get off.”

“Trying to, but you’re being slow about things.” She retorts hotly, a cheeky little smirk touching her lips.

“Oh really?” He growls at her, lifting her off his hips and shifting in a single motion. Ariadne is thrust back against the cushions on the other end of the couch and his hands fly for his buttons on his jeans. “Get yours off too, girl. Unless you want to delay this more,” the growling tone hasn’t let up, and he watches as her eyes dilate further, dainty hands rushing to grab at and pop open the button.

 A short, narrow pair of pants fly over the back of the couch, a wider, longer pair flies over the arm of the sofa. Panties hit Eames in the face and his just drop to the floor. Chuckling, he pushes them off his lap where they land to the floor. In another moment or two he is poised between Ariadne’s thighs. His big hands are pulling her legs up, dragging her down the couch to him. Eames gets the tiny woman right where he wants her and lets his hips drop down onto hers carefully. It takes a moment or two but they fit themselves together and he rocks forward experimentally. She squirms and makes a face, shaking her head.

“Here, let me just.” One of her hands disappears between them and take hold of him. He groans and then lets out a whoosh of air when she parts her lips and settles him where he needs to be. The moment her hand is free and clear of their bodies, Eames starts to rock his hips back and forth. It’s an easy rolling sort of motion, and he has to keep aware of just how far he draws back. Too far and he’ll be sliding _into_ her and not against her.

The rolling works for his partner. Her eyes flutter shut, thick black lashes kissing her cheeks. She slides down to lie completely on her back and her hips start to arch up and meet the thrusts. Her breathless sighs turn into moans and Eames has to bite his lip. This is a dangerous game they’re playing. He wants to badly to pull back, just pull back and line up the blunt tip of his cock with her opening. It would be so easy and neither of them would regret it.

At least, not until the end game and then both of them would be cursing their stupidity. So, he keeps focus. The hot wetness surrounding him on three sides is easy to focus on. The roll, back and forth between her lips, the reciprocating motions from beneath him. He jolts when her hot little hands clasp onto his shoulders and tug. He has to let go of her leg, the one nearest the couch back and plants that hand by her head. He tilts his head at her, leaning down slightly.

“You need something?” He rumbles with a half smile.

“I want your mouth.”

“Ahh, give me a mo’ ”

Eames shifts her legs around, hanging them on his shoulders. He leans down cautiously and when she doesn’t yelp or hit at him, he grins. Oh this just lit up his mind with possibilities. Bendy little girl, all his, those other men had been complete idiots. Fruit baskets, he’d send them all fruit baskets. . He was such a lucky bastard.

“Kiss. Now.”

“Bossy.” His lips are on hers, easy, nothing too intense; he’d lose himself if they got lost in the kiss. Getting lost in the kiss meant his strokes got longer, and he ran the risk of plunging into her.

This was dancing the razors edge and he absolutely loved it. Pulling back from the kiss, he straightens up, adjusts so he can actually move against her like he wants to. With her legs up, Eames sits on his haunches. Now he is actually thrusting, damn and he can watch too.

It’s quite the sight. Reddened engorged phallus sliding between pretty pale pink lips, with her clit peaking above the head of his cock every time he drew back. It made the little ball in his stomach tighten and Cal has to close his eyes. A deep sound is wrenched from him; it breaks up the soft melody of Ariadne’s song. Her moans are becoming high pitched; the situation must be getting to her too.

Smoldering eyes dart up to her face, and he is pinned by molten chocolate pools. She is watching him as well, though her gaze flickers down to where they are almost joined and she bucks up slightly with a keen. The visual isn’t unappealing to her then. Unfortunately, or very fortunately, he isn’t sure which; her hips upward movement comes when he is drawing back. When he thrusts forward, she is moving down and they meet at just the right moment.

Eames swears a blue streak, half falling onto Ariadne. So wet, so tight, she’s practically strangling him. He has to hold still for a moment, needs to gather his willpower and then draw out. Christ how was he supposed to not just-

“Oh god. Jesus. Eames. Move. Move now. Please.”

“Ari – haven’t got on –“

“Pill. Clean. You?”

“Clean. Checked.”

“Then move. God alive, _Move_.” She growls at him, eyes narrowing. That half threatening look would work out a bit better for her if he wasn’t buried inside her quim right now.

“Right, all right.” He takes a breath and pulls back, his eyes close tight, the walls of her channel were clinging to him. Even as slick as Ariadne was, her body didn’t want t o let him go.  “Jesus.”

“Ca-al,” her legs tighten on his shoulders, helping her to lever up against him when he slides baack in. He swears again and sits up, his hands settling on her hips. The change of his angle means he thrusts in and just keeps going until his pelvis hits hers. The wail that Ariadne lets out is worth it. So worth it. He draws back and snaps his hips against hers again. The whole time he watches her through slitted eyes. Eames refuses to hurt his friend, now lover. Actual lover, it makes him shake his head, rolling to drag his cock from her and then pressing back in with little pause between. He hadn’t planned to be here for a day or two. Maybe three days if he could draw it out. He had things planned. Sod’s law had apparently taken him for a ride. Nothing about this situation was really upsetting however.

“Aria, touch yourself dove. Just like if you were alone.” He gasps it out  as she tightens around him, he’d shifted to try and find her sweet spot. It looks like he’d found it.

“W-why? Feels so good, I don’t need –“

“Trust me. J-just in case. For that edge. Can always come again.” He groans and reaches a hand up for hers, drawing it down to settle between her thighs.

It takes her a moment, but then her thin fingers are dipping down, brushing the base of his cock to gather slick and then retreating to that little nubbin.

Eames chances looking down and watching her for a few minutes. With a groan, he takes in the slide and withdrawal of his cock, the way her body swallows him up eagerly with little resistance now, how her fingers take their time making circles on her clit. He pushes into her harder, keeping his angle as best he can to glide over her sweet spot on each withdrawal. If the toss of her head is any indication, he isn’t doing too bad a job at that.

The room around them dissolves. There is nothing but Ariadne and Callum, the slide of their skin against each other’s, the sounds they make, and they way their eyes will meet for a few moments before moving away. The whole situation is starting to weight on Eames however. It starts at the base of his spine. A hot spark of pleasure. It keeps growing, and he starts to feel the pleasure move, settling between his legs. He has to feel her come first. She has to get pleasure out of this or he’s gone about this all the wrong way.

“Ari, dove, talk to me.”

“W- hn- what?” Her eyes move to his face, lashes kiss her cheeks and her eyes are focused on them again, where they’re joined. He focuses on her face now. Has to. He can’t watch himself plunge into her anymore. It’s driving him mad.

“Feel, good? Giving you what you need, pet?” _Focus, damn it. Face, her cheeks are pink. Her lips are bruised from earlier. Her, arm is moving faster. Give me something to work with, Ari …_

“Yes. Just, harder, maybe. I don’t know. It’s that pressure. That feeling where I – I’m going to.”

Oh, _Oh_. That dangerous grin is back and one of his hands removes itself from her hip. This was more than enough to work with. She was hanging on a thread, and needed and extra push. Just like when he’d had the pleasure of licking at her, kissing her pretty entrance. Yes. His finger drags around her opening, currently being occupied by his length. Best thing about this, it would shock her, and tip her over the edge. That was if he could get this right and not hurt her. As it was her hips were bucking, those toned little legs pulling at his shoulders to give her leverage to move.

His forefinger keeps moving, back and forth over the top of her entrance. She’s so wet, her lips are wet, her thighs would be wet if they weren’t being held aloft. It’s fantastic. Eames is amazed b the strength of her responses. It’s just… there are no words for it. At least not any he can find in his current state.

When she is whining and frustrated tears start to well in her eyes, he takes his chance. Pulling back, his head is barely within her and he presses forward with his forefinger, thrusting back in slowly at the same time. Ariadne howls and her back arches up off the couch.

He hadn’t hurt her. This was the best response he could have hoped for really. One thrust, his finger drags along the top wall of her quim, searching for that spot. It’s harder to pay attention when she’s squeezing like a vice around his finger and cock. Second stroke, there it is. He flattens the pad of his finger against the spongy little mass and rubs it side to side ever so gently while he picks back up his previous rhythm.

The affect on the woman on the couch is stark. Tears stream down her face, and her mouth sucks in large gasps of breath. She claws at the couch with one and hand the other stutters in it’s movements.

“Eames. Jesus fuck. You have to. I can’t. Please. Don’t. OhgodohgodfuckmeIcalpleaseesus!” It’s all a garbled mess of exclamations from the lithe brunette. That is also the forger’s only warning. Her hips snap against his and she screams, her free hand slapping against the couch as her body erupts. Ariadne bucks so hard that he falls free of her body and he would laugh if he weren’t so damn ticked off about it. That first flex of her body around him. It’s best that he’d fallen free. Or he’d be upset with himself for ending inside her.

He’s got his hand around himself, stroking the last way until his own wave of pleasure hits. He half cuts it off, squeezing the base of himself so he won’t add to the mess they already need to have cleaned. It is worth it though, the mess, this half orgasm that makes him twitch and groan. Worth it to see Ariadne gasping for air and boneless, the aftershocks making her squirm on the leather.

When they’ve both had enough time to come down off the high, the endorphins settling in and making their bodies feel heavy, Eames lets her legs fall off his shoulder. One lands heavily on he floor, the other by his side on the couch. Leaning down, his lips catch hers in a soft kiss, lingering before he lets his forehead rest against hers.

“So…”  
“Can’t think. Don’t talk. My brain is melted.”

“That good?”

“God we’re never going to get out of bed now.”

That makes Eames chuckle, and a bright smile light up his face. Fantastic. If they never get out of bed, that means they’ll never stop the lessons. It’s a delirious sort of thought. The happy warm feeling flooding him the after sex glow. He’ll deny ever having that thought later. Sighing, because he can’t stay here like this, half on top of her, drenched from the waist down, he shifts and groans.

“God I am old,” he complains, stretching out his aching right knee. Of course it would give him problems after a frankly fantastic round of sex. That was always the way of it.

Ariadne giggles at him. “My old man, though. We’ll have to see about deep tissue massages or something if we keep this up.”

“Long soaks in the tub with bath salts. This way the marathon sex can still happen.”

“Aren’t you a professional out law, shouldn’t you be in top condition so you can run from the police?” Her teasing tone isn’t lost on the forger.

“Darling, I’m so good they never even figure out that I’ve done something to warrant their attention.”

“Now you’re just being a smug asshole.”

“It’s the truth and you know it pet.”

“Shower?”

“Bath. That tub is huge. You can lay against me.”

“Oh that sounds fantastic.”

“Up you get then, lets go.”

He stands awkwardly and starts toward the bathroom. He had a mess to contain, and she had a mess to wash off. All in all, this was a lesson that was well worth the derailment. 


	9. Returning to the Real World...Sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we get a glimpse into Ariadne's upbringing. 90% of what Ariadne's Mom says in this chapter is things my mother has said to me in the past. Not verbatim, but the same message.

The first week after Callum and Ariadne had moved into penetrative sex passed in a blur. They spent hours in his bed, in her bed, in the living rooms, in their respective showers.  It was normal sex, vanilla sex, and all modified missionary position variations. Callum delighted in watching her face, the way her eyes would lid and pop open when he found a good spot. So much that he was almost reluctant to start moving them into exploring other positions.

However, as the middle of the second week approached, and his job in Washington ended, he had started to plan some new things for he and Ariadne to try. It started with a stop off to the florist near Ariadne’s favorite bakery. He wanted to get her something; it had been a month since they actually started to fool around. 30 days of being physically near each other, delighting in one another. That bore need for a little celebration in his book.

Ariadne was simply enjoying her first foray into sex that was pleasurable and lead to orgasms. Sex had been pleasurable in the past, no doubt about it, but orgasms, assisted, achieved through penetration only, any orgasms had been few and far between. If she were being very truthful, she’d admit that even what she had previously classed as an orgasm was more of just a precursor. It didn’t bother her either, not right now. The little Greek woman was on cloud nine. Her bed partner was attentive, he talked her through things that she’d normally balk at (her mind returned to the frottage turned copulation) and he was…good. Just good. Great. Fantastic.

Which is where the rub came in. Callum was her colleague, a friend, and her teacher for all intents and purposes. They were embarking on sexual exploration and realization for her. He was rearranging his life so she could later go out and find a partner that suited her needs, her wants. Hopefully the future would provide someone who wanted to provide such things for her, desired the same things as her. Except, Ariadne was having a very hard time remembering that this was a temporary arrangement. 

She floated to work, and was told she had that “new love” glow. Roberto’s family kept asking when they would see her big Englishman again. Her parents even asked when they would meet whoever was making her sound like Christmas had come and stayed. 

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” and “I’m not actually seeing anyone,” had crossed the brunette’s lips more times than she cared to count in the last week. The knife she is wielding to cut chicken sounds dully against the board as she tries to focus. This was a situation Ariadne needed to nip in the bud. It would just cause problems and even heartache later if she didn’t. So, when Callum buzzes at the door to be let in, she takes a minute to gather her arguments for the coming conversation before moving to let the man up.

“Aria, what took you? You’re not busy I hope. I can come back later if you are. I just thought that we could –“

“No, no. Let me just buzz you in, Cal. I’m making dinner, that curry that you like.”

“You’re too good to me poppet. Chicken and shrimp?”

“Chicken and shrimp.” She fights the smile pulling at her lips at the sound of his excitement. Food never failed to make Eames bounce like a five year old. 

She’s barely gotten back into her kitchen when the presumably starved man is opening her door. He flashes her a wide smile, all teeth and bright happiness. The young woman wonders just what has him so happy.

“Hello, sprite. I’ve got you something.” He practically chirps and vibrates with excitement. Ariadne feels her eyebrows shift up toward her hairline. 

“You’ve got me something? Is it a holiday that I don’t know about?” 

“Not quite, sort of. Been a full month of face-to-face contact. I thought I’d… well it’s probably silly.” Callum is visibly deflating in the face of Ariadne’s cool confusion. It makes her resolve break.

“Cal, you sweetheart,” the murmur quells the rising nerves the Forger is experiencing. Blue green eyes watch as the lithe woman comes from around her desk out of the kitchen toward him. Her fingers are ink and graphite stained. She’ll have gone to the office today. Her hair is up, though, and her make up gone. Came home early?

“It isn’t anything particularly fantastic,” Eames grumbles and shuffles on spot. He feels like a teenage boy again, spots all over his face and his crush looking down her nose at him on valentines day. This is positively nerve wracking. How long had it been since he commemorated an, anniversary with someone?

“Cal.” Ariadne’s tone brooks no argument and she holds out her hands, an easy smile forming on her face. His nervousness is telling, and makes this all the sweeter for all that she’d nearly ruined it just moments prior. “Give me my gift, so I can finish our dinner and then snog you for an hour or so.”

“Just snog?”

“You don’t want the prawns to get all spicy do you?”

“It’s curry, Ariadne.”

“Says the man who complained I make it too hot.”

“Here.” His face twists into a grumpy look and his left hand, which she hadn’t noticed behind his back, comes forward. Her eyes widen. Tiger lilies! He’d bought her a huge arrangement of Tiger Lilies. There were other complimentary blooms in it, but the spotted yellow and orange dominate. These were her favorite flowers. Had she ever told him that? Had he guessed? God forbid, had he talked to her mother?!

“Talk to me Aria. I don’t know if these are right or if I should have talked to you first,” Eames speaks soothingly, mild concern lighting his face. He was beginning to regret this whole exercise. Maybe she didn’t want him like he wanted her. They’d not actually talked about it. Just agreed they liked one another. Just agreed to be. This was becoming convoluted very quickly and he could kick himself for letting the lines blur.

“It’s perfect, Cal. I just, how did you know the Tiger Lilies?” The words are breathed softly, and her face gains softness that Eames hasn’t ever witnessed before now. Worry edges away, slowly, but it becomes less intense.

“The florist a block away. I went in on a whim coming over from that job over in DC and surprisingly when I asked what a good flower would be for a charming architect –“

“You used my florist.” She laughs and all the worry he had known from research or talking to her mother bleeds out of her. This was better. It was right, somehow, that he had learned by chance what her favorite bloom was.  “Let me find a vase for them. They’re beautiful. Why so many?”

“Why not?”

“And when we get to six months?” The question is off handed and it makes them both freeze up. Brown eyes dart to sea colored and they both wait. A minute passes, two, three, and then Callum clears his throat.

“Well, if we make it to three, I’ll buy you some silly stuffed animal. If we make it to six, I’ll take you out on a little weekend getaway. If…If a year rolls around, then I suppose a form of jewelry will be involved.” The words hold some sort of magic in them, because they anchor Ariadne to the floor of her apartment.  He wasn’t running. She wasn’t running. They simply stood watching each other. 

“I. I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Eames, don’t disappoint me,” her voice is soft and cautious as the architect makes her declaration. Her statement of intent is soft and firm, at least as close as they seem to get to such things. A month, just one month, and it had gone slowly, unnoticeably, from lessons, to this. Whatever this was. Ariadne couldn’t put a label on it. She didn’t want to label it. Somehow a box meant that this would end, to her reasoning. 

“Lines are blurring, Cal.” Whispered words of caution and fear are left between the two lovers as the short woman turns to finish her trek into the kitchen to look for a suitable vase for the gift.

“Aria…” He has so much to say about that. Lines were barely drawn in the sand from the start. The rules had been she couldn’t see anyone while they were having sex. No dates, no casual I’ll get your numbers and later encounters. He had made it clear. If Ariadne wanted him to teach her the ins and outs of sex; she would be his for the duration of the lessons. What sort of line was that? What sort of teach/student dynamic could one even really have when the subject was intercourse? Lots of intercourse, all the possible variations and kinks broken into little pieces to each, sex.  The thief runs a hand over his hair, a little greasy from the heat of the day in that bloody office building. He was glad the job was over.

“Ariadne, we have no lines to blur. You wanted to “learn” about sex. You came to me. The line drawn was that you couldn’t be with anyone else for the duration. I practically made you date me just so you could have your lessons.” Eames is frustrated and worried that this is going to blow up in his face. Taking this chance to have this conversation now could ruin everything.

Ariadne is quiet, opening cupboards and closing them when the vase isn’t found. Finally she finds one she made in college. Mandatory humanities had resulted in pottery and sculpting one-oh-one. The vase was one of the few usable and actually decorative pieces the architect had kept. She fills it with warm water and comes back toward Eames.

“Ariadne, talk to me.”

“I’m thinking. About this, about the arrangement. How it’s affecting our relationship.”

“It’s making a relationship, moving us from friends into romantic partners.” He tells her hotly, annoyed that his lover isn’t actually communicating with him.

“Not really,” Ariadne protests weakly. “Bear with me. We have sex, great sex, explosive sex, almost nightly. Sometimes twice and three times in the night. I’ve never felt so wanted, so sexy around anyone else in my life. I feel confident, sexually confident, for the first time. Does that mean we’re lovers? You teaching me these little sneaky things like how to be comfortable with just kissing, or masturbation. Does that honestly make us lovers?”

“It absolutely does.” Eames grinds out, frustrated with the young woman. “If you were a virgin, Ariadne, the first person you cared enough for to take to bed, would be teaching you all this. Or you would be learning it all together. Yes, you’d had sex before me, but no one bothered to see to your needs, to teach you how to be comfortable in your own skin during the act. That is what you really came to me for. Whether you know it or not.”

“I came to you to fuck. To learn how to be a good lay.”

“Don’t lie.” Eames’ eyes are darkening, and not with lust, stormy sea gray eyes pin her in place. “You came to me and asked how to be a lover. That isn’t just about sex. It isn’t just about how to please your man or woman in bed. Being a lover, it’s sharing yourself with a person, letting them in! What do you think we’ve been doing here, these last few weeks? We had phone sex for three weeks while I was gone. This has been going on for months, I’m just celebrating the days that I’ve been able to see you.”

“How isn’t this about sex.” Ariadne hasn’t got a leg to stand on. He was right. She’d asked him to teach her how to be a better lover. Not just how to be good at sex. Christ a book could have taught her how to have sex. She’d wanted the intimacy, the knowledge that she could actually be half of a whole unit. Now the young woman was back pedaling desperately, because she was frightened of being hurt again.

“Ariadne, for the love of God, are you listening to yourself. Did you hear a word I just said?” Callum stalks toward her, hands undoing the bouquet, taking the vase from her hands and setting it on the coffee table. He was so incensed with Ariadne’s obtuse behavior. 

“I don’t just want to fuck you. If I just wanted to have sex with you – I wouldn’t have said you couldn’t see anyone while we were doing this. I am a jealous prig, and the thought of me having you while others benefited from what I was –“

“That was always the endgame, wasn’t it?” Her hysteria is clear in the way she cuts Eames off. “I was always going to have a final lesson. We were always going to drift apart and go fuck other people. You’re – you’re a forger Callum! How could we possibly –“

“I am a forger. You’ll notice that I do my thieving quite easily while staying near you. Legal applications of the job are hard to come by Ariadne. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to just leave? Do you want me to only call when I need a good lay? Because that can be what this is. I can leave. I can pack up the sublet of my things and be on the first flight to Europe.”

“I – I don’t want you to leave you great fucking idiot!”

“How am I the idiot here? What have I done that is so uneducated? You want me. You enjoy my company. I enjoy your company. I sure as fuck want you. We’ve got a good thing going. Me here. You here. You with your legal work, me with what I do. I don’t have to run so much here. I can be stationary. I could even retire.”

“Retire? Like Cobb? Who chomps for small jobs so he can dream? Eames this is going to end poorly. We’re both going to get hurt because –“

“You don’t know that, Ariadne. You don’t know this will end badly. You don’t know that it will end! For all we know we could end up walking down the bloody aisle one day.”

“I highly doubt that would ever happen. It’s not your style to settle down. Eames, you went off three days after we started this affair!”

“Have I left country since I got back? Have I left your side to go get shot at? I’ve done small jobs near by. I’ve been well within reach of you in the week I’ve been back.  I am making an effort to be what you need.”

“Who said I needed you?!”

“Fine! I’m making an effort to be something that you might need in the future! I want to be with you Ariadne. I don’t just want to have sex. I don’t. If that’s all you want I will leave the apartment now and be gone tomorrow.”

“Stop threatening me with leaving!”

“I’m not threatening you!”

“You are!” She screeches and stomps into the kitchen. Pan lids clatter and she viciously stirs the meal, checking the rice’s progress. “You keep saying if I just want sex that you’ll leave! Why do I get punished for just wanting things simple.”

“Because I don’t want simple. I thought we agreed that day on the couch!”

“We just agreed we liked each other and being with one another.”

“That constitutes a relationship you daft girl!”

Ariadne makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. She wasn’t ready to give in. To let this become a relationship, it meant that she’d have to let Cal meet her parents. Let them meet him. Everything would change. This was comfortable, this pseudo friends with benefits thing.  Part of her whispers to tell Eames to leave, tells her to tell him to take a job out of country. Put distance between them so she can think. The other part of her balks at the idea of being separated from Callum. The brunet man had insinuated himself firmly into her life, her routines. Having him leave would upset everything. Ariadne did actually want the man to be around. 

The wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the curry clacks against the work top and the conflicted architect turns to face the living room, to face Eames. Except when she does, she comes face to chest with the man.

“I am not letting your fears ruin this.” He growls down at her, the perhaps six or seven inch height difference between them never more exaggerated than it is now.

“Who says I’m afraid?” She shoots back, and feels her resolve to be upset, to fight, to drive him off, bleeding from her.

“I do. I can see it I can practically smell it. You don’t want things to get any sort of serious. You’re afraid to let this evolve, even though you can’t stop it from doing that. It already has. Ariadne you’re my lover. I only sleep with you. I only call you. I haven’t given my number out to any woman or man in since we took up with one another…” Callum is at his wits end with this tiff. Why were they even fighting? Because he brought her flowers? Admitted that he wanted to be around to buy hers something when they reached six months together?

“Nothing between you and I is going to change right now. I only have the apartment sublet for another three weeks. After that, I might go back to Europe, or even to Asia, Hell I might head for Australia. I don’t know. I need your input however I want your input. In a month, this is going to change. Maybe we’ll leave one another behind, and I sincerely hope we don’t, maybe we stay near by and see where this goes. What do you actually want? I can’t read your mind.”

Ariadne’s hands fist at her side. What did she want? The little architect wanted a whole host of things. She wanted to keep Callum with her. Have him call her when he was away each night, as he could manage. Ariadne wanted him in her bed. She wanted to laugh with him, be silly with him. Carnivals – she wanted him to go to one with her, wanted the man to win her some stupid prize. There was no end to what the woman wanted. However, saying it out loud was proving to be a serious trial for her. 

“I… I just.”

“Ariadne, please… just tell me what you want out of this. What you really want.” He’s pleading with her, actually pleading and standing so close to her. How can she deny him? Why does she want to deny him what they both want?

“I don’t want you to leave,” she starts hesitantly, so soft that Callum almost misses her words entirely. “I’m still scared. Still worried this is all going to blow up in our faces. Whatever this is. It’s not – we aren’t together. Together is different than this. It’s more and less at the same time. So…we’re friends with significant benefits. Can  - is that.”

“Yeah, it’s fine, Ariadne.” Callum’s voice sounds dull, even to his own ears. She didn’t want him to go, but she wasn’t letting him in either. He heaves a sigh and is suddenly very tired. The forger just wants to sleep, just wants to be back in the sublet alone. Even if she is making his favorite curry…

“I am going to go. Tonight we won’t get anything done.”

“Callum –“

“No. I’m tired, and I don’t want to crowd you. I’ll call you in the morning.” Callum is moving away from her mechanically, with determination – he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Hadn’t had the chance before Ariadne made a right arse out of herself.  She swipes at her burning eyes and tries to swallow around the lump forming in her throat.

“Callum, please. I made – I made the curry.”

“I’m not hungry tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” His voice is as rough as hers is strained and he pulls the apartment door open with little to say. He’s out a moment later and Ariadne is left in her apartment alone. 

A wave of distress crashes over the young woman. She had driven Eames away. Her fear and confusion over where the hell they were headed had made her lash out, in a passive aggressive way, and it had all gone wrong. 

Her arms wrap around her thin waist and she chokes back a sob. Why had she been so determined to fight tonight? Callum had bought her flowers. Asked what he should get and gotten a stroke of luck in going to her florist. The forger wanted her, wanted more than ex from her, wanted to build something with her, to have a relationship with her. And she just flung it in his face. She’d called him a liar. Not in so many words, but it had certainly been said.

Hot tears of frustration start to drip from her eyes. They land on the linoleum under her feet with nary a sound and the twenty five year old woman stands in her kitchen crying. Ariadne doesn’t want to think she just lost her lover, shut the door on a possible future, all because she was afraid. 

It’s two hours and a smoke alarm later, that the brunette finds herself on the phone to her mother. She is pouring her heart out to the elder Papaellis woman, and sniffles quietly when the story is done.

“Ari, sweetheart. I hate to tell you that you’ve been going about this the wrong way, but darling…”

“Momma…”

“That boy is putting himself out there for you. He moved you said? Sold his apartment in Mombasa and came here? Ariadne, how could you not see?”

“I just… I don’t want him to be another Daniel, Mom. I don’t –“

“That man was a viper. He didn’t think about anyone’s feelings but his own. He broke your heart, I understand that sweetie, but that doesn’t mean you can hurt Callum like you did. It sounds like he wanted to hear you agree to try. You shut him down instead.”

“What do I do?”

“Apologize, and make an effort to build some sort of trust. Communicate – and not just with your bodies, actually talk to one another. Go on some dates. Like you were before the sex got in the way.”

“What if he decides tonight he doesn’t want it anymore?”

“Then you’ll have to fight, or live with his decisions, Ariadne. I thought we raised you better than this. I’m not upset, but I am confused. We never taught you to look at sex so casually. This Callum apparently took that into consideration before he even realized your upbringing.”

Ariadne sighs and curls up into a tighter ball on her bed. “I don’t want things to change. We’re good friends –“

“Then you shouldn’t have taken off your clothes and gone down the road of lovers.”

“Mom.”

“I’m serious. Ariadne, if you just wanted a friend, you wouldn’t have slept with him. You wouldn’t have been so happy to have him move across the world for you. You certainly wouldn’t be so distraught over him leaving tonight either.”

“This is. It’s just.”

“Love is often confusing, scary, and very overwhelming. You need to sleep, and in the morning start to make amends. You also need to bring him to dinner young lady. Two months of seeing this man and we’re only just learning his name. That is absolutely shameful. We raised you better than that.”

“Yes Momma…”

“Are you feeling better?”

“No. Worse.”

“Well then, you better make it up to him and figure out why it is you feel so guilty.”

“I will.”

“I love you, darling. Go get some sleep.”

“Love you too, Mom. I’ll call you with news on how it all works out.”

“You had better. Good night.”

“Night.”

Ariadne shuts her phone off and tosses it onto her bedside table. Rolling onto her back she stares at the ceiling in her dark room. She had made a mess of things. It was time to put her big girl panties on and fix things. 

 


	10. Reconciliation? The European Job? Oh dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is shorter than the last chapters have been. Sort of an abrupt ending, but I'm working on it.

Eames didn’t eat when he got back to his apartment. He instead fired up his laptop and started putting in passwords. The urge to speak to someone was overwhelming, even as he attempted to tamp it down. His email platform is up almost as soon as the desktop has booted up.

The address is typed in, and the question of “Do you have any jobs that need a good forger” is typed into the body of the message before he thinks better of it. Eames is hurt, more so than he realized. Ariadne didn’t actually want him. Just his cock, just his advice on how to fuck and fuck well enough to keep someone around. He had been a fool to think it could ever be more. He scrubs a damp palmed hand down his face.

“You’re too old for this shit, Callum…” His voice is hoarse; the lump in his throat that’s been there since the fight started in Ariadne’s apartment is hard to swallow around. Here in the privacy of his apartment, Eames isn’t worried about how his voice sounds, or the way his eyes prickle at the edges.  The “Send” button is hit without another thought.

Work would always be his constant companion. Dreaming was a respite from the real world and all it’s bullshit.  Grabbing a single beer from the fridge, Eames sits back on the couch and scrolls through the other missives that he hasn’t checked yet. Two from Yusuf, three from the Bellgrady boys, one from Arthur, that one catches the forger’s eye. After that phone call, he didn’t expect to hear from the point man any time soon.

Opening the message, his prayers feel like they’ve been answered. Arthur has a high paying training job lined up. They’d be going in and militarizing a subconscious.  A Swiss Banker must do a fair bit of on the sly bookwork. Eames doesn’t care, not a whit, it’s a job and it will take him away from here.  Typing out a quick confirmation, Arthur is informed he’d be flying out the day after tomorrow. It was too late to get a flight out this morning, but tomorrow.

His browser is opened, email closing out as soon as the browser is opened, and Callum starts searching flights. Coach will do, he just needed to get here. He wonders idly if he should call the apartment owner; let him know he wouldn’t be back. Did he intend to come back? His mouth forms into a grim line. Why should he? Being used was no one’s cup of tea, especially not Callum’s.

“I’ll decide in the morning.” He tells himself out loud, while booking his flight. Bless reloadable credit cards. It is the perfect resource for a man of his means and employment. Sitting back now the flight is sorted, Eames sips at his beer.

It’s three a.m. when the brunet man falls into the sheets of his bed. Ariadne swims behind his eyelids, her sweet smile and enthusiastic kiss welcoming him into oblivion.

-

Ariadne doesn’t sleep well. If you can even call tossing and turning in a two cool bed sleeping.  Seven o’clock comes, and Ariadne is reaching for her phone. The alarm is shut off and her office number is blindly dialed. She was supposed to go in for a few hours today, to show the progress on the plans for a housing company. She would email the progress in to her supervisor.

When the call is completed, Ariadne flops onto her back, staring up at her ceiling in an echo of how she fell asleep the night before. She had made such a mess of things. Too afraid to accept a label change, it makes her feel pathetic and frustrates the woman to no end. Her mother said she had hurt Eames. Ariadne found that hard to believe. The forger was unflappable – unshakable; he let things like this roll off his back. Didn’t he? She honestly can’t imagine him being upset by anything but being lied to or used like Dom had used them all.

Even then, Eames had forgiven Dom. Probably because they had all come out on the other end alive. That, and how could you not forgive a desperate man just trying to get back to his family? Still, Ariadne replays her mother’s words to her over and over again. Then she replayed the argument, his leaving.

She had hurt Eames. He was so quiet when he left. So…resigned.  The architect heaves herself out of bed, and makes a beeline for her bathroom.  _I have to fix this_.  Her mind slips from one mantra to another, and she climbs into her shower, throwing her underwear and t-shirt out of the curtain as she flips on the tap. Cold-water makes her shriek, but it also wakes her up, just like her mother had. She had to see Eames. Before the damage was permanent.

Thirteen minutes later, Ariadne is half dressed, hair wrapped in a towel and texting Callum. Her fingers slip over the touch screen, but the words come out without any major misspellings. The message is simple. “I over reacted, I’m sorry. Can we talk.”

However, there is no reply. Twenty minutes after she gets out of the shower, Ariadne is hopping out the door, bag slung across her body, one shoe half on, the other completely on, phone and keys in her hand. She’d stop by the diner on the way to Eames’ sublet and grab some take out breakfast. Then – she would grovel, and hope that that was good enough.

-

Eames wakes up to knocking on the apartment door. It’s been a scant five hours since he dragged himself into the bedroom. Five hours of oblivion. Now it was being rudely ripped from him. It had better be a postman on the other side of that door, with the post for the apartment’s actual owner. Otherwise, whomever was here to see John was going to get a frightful wake up call.

He pulls himself from the warm sheets, shivers as he makes his way toward the door, forgoing real pants and a shirt. All Callum wants is to get rid of whoever has disturbed his peace, and then crawl back into the warm sheets. The knocks come again, more insistent this time, and he growls at the door.

“I’m coming! Give me a moment!” The words are barked at the entry way and the knocking abruptly stops. Thank god. Maybe they had figured out that he wasn’t John. Unless John was an Englishman as well, and then there would be even _more_ confusion to fix.

Wrenching open the door, mouth open to berate the person on the other side, he is faced with a wide eyed Ariadne, her hair up, yoga pants, a t-shirt and a bag of take out in her hand. The scowl on his face deepens slightly and he shifts gears. Leaning on the doorframe, he eyes her, waiting to hear what she wants. Ariadne stares at him fro a pregnant moment of silence. Then, she seems together her thoughts and sighs slightly.

“I’m sorry, Cal. I was…it was stupid last night. The fight, my reaction, all of it.  The flowers are beautiful, and I cannot thank you enough for them. I am an idiot, and have brought breakfast with me. I offer it up in the name of peace, and am prepared to grovel for hurting you.”

The words bounce of Eames like little flies trying to get in a window. He doesn’t _want_ to forgive the young woman this easily. Doesn’t want to be happy that she came over firs thing with food and an apology on her lips. He doesn’t actually want to hear an apology – he wants her to say she wants him. That she wants to actually attempt a relationship for real.

None of that is being said however, and Eames isn’t receptive to meaningless apologies. It was actions, not words, which moved the forger. Still, he shifts so Ariadne can get into the apartment. Wordlessly the small Greek woman edges in, head down and shoulders slumped. Her posture speaks of defeat, and it makes Callum grind his teeth. If that girl already thought she was here for nothing – why was she here? Why waste their time?

“I got your favorite from the diner by my apartment. Those pancakes and the really good Irish bacon, with two things of the maple syrup – they’re still hot, I put my heater on to make sure. I almost got coffee as well, but you don’t like Starbucks coffees and the only other place that had coffee and is open is the diner. I remember you didn’t like that coffee either – so I didn’t buy any. I can make some if you want me to.” Ariadne babbles and sounds like she is going to break down at any moment. It both softens and annoys Callum. He wants her to just calm down, to smile and for them to talk like adults. His injured pride, well, that is a different story entirely. He’d rather see her break down and beg for forgiveness than admit he’s softening up.

“Don’t worry about the coffee,” the door shuts with an audible thud, and the brunet makes his way toward the kitchen, broad shoulders stiff and straight as he walks. “I’ll make it. Yours is always too weak for my tastes. The plates and cutlery haven’t moved. Feel free to grab what we’ll need.” Terse as the words are, they are the first Callum has spoken to her since leaving the night before, and Ariadne thanks her lucky stars. The forger could have shut her out all together. He _could_ have slammed the door in her face. Terse, the architect could work with.

“All right, no problem.” Opening her mouth again, as she opens up the cabinets, Ariadne is struck by the fact she doesn’t know what to say. She isn’t sure what to do, either. Fights have always been very cut and dry in her past. Someone is wrong, someone is right, voices are raised, in the end someone capitulates. One person is going to fix what they did, or attempt to not let it occur in the future again. This is tricky; it’s rarely been her that has made such a transgression against someone else’s feelings. Apologizing is tricky. Too much and you’re insincere. Too little and you don’t care in the first place.

“Eames…we should have sat down and really hammered out what it is we’re going here. I jumped into this without any thought to what might happen later on down the road. Neither of us made our intentions clear. That said, I was rude last night. I intentionally attacked your feelings in a passive aggressive manner. I’m afraid of changing our dynamic. I don’t want to get into a relationship and then have something go wrong between us and lose that easy friendship we’ve got. Flirty and silliness is one thing, right? We were always silly during the jobs we had after Saito’s. It was great. It was comfortable. I know we’re great like this. The sex, the flirting, the kissing, the…more, but I’ve not exactly got the greatest track record. One boyfriend wanted to get married straight out of high school. The other one didn’t keep me around long enough to see if the sex issue could be fixed. Now I’m fucking it all up with you…” Ariadne babbles as she grabs the plates, moving on autopilot to get the knives and forks as well.

Callum stands by the coffee pot, little brewer already chugging away to make a pot of coffee for them both. He is surprised by the verbal vomit happening, he hadn’t really given much thought to the fear of paradigm disruption. Ariadne wanted her friend, but she, at least it sounded like, also wanted him as her lover as well. It makes him want to laugh. How could she not realize that the best lovers – the healthiest married couples, were often friends first?

“Slow down, sprite.” Finally he speaks, and it isn’t gruff, or snide. It isn’t quite his normal tone, but it is decidedly warmer. “I should be apologizing as well. I just acted. I never brought up in an obvious way what I wanted. Neither of us did – you had that right. So we’ll eat, and talk. But we’ve got to get it somewhat sorted today.”

“Why? You’ve got another –“

“Arthur needs me for a job. Only the best will do apparently. I wonder if that means Cobb will be back as Extractor…”

“Oh… you’re leaving?” The distress in her voice is clear as day and Eames could kick himself.

“I owe it to him. We’ve worked together for years. He’s gotten me out of a lot of scraps and it’s the right thing to do. He’s my colleague and friend.”

“No, no you’re right. I understand. I just… My parents… they want to meet you.”

Well, that was right out of fucking left field, now wasn’t it? Eames feels like he has mental whiplash, his lips pursing as she considers her words.

“Your parents want me to meet them? Do _you_ want _me_ to meet them?”

Ariadne winces, and the guilt floods back tenfold. He thought she was ashamed of him? Hiding him like some dirty secret? “Yes, of course I do,” the architect murmurs and her head hangs, loose tendrils from her ponytail hanging around her face.  Eames wasn’t making this easy on her – and he was right to question her like this.  Ariadne is suddenly frustrated, because even though she _knows_ he has the right to question her – has the high ground here, it doesn’t make it any better. She sets the silverware down on the plates with a clatter.

“I am trying, Cal. You want a relationship. Here I am. I’m right here, begging forgiveness for overreacting. I am relaying my parents’ wishes to meet you. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to go to Sunday dinner with me. Yet you stand there, hurt, moping and broody. You rebuff me. Barely speak or acknowledge my speaking to you. What the hell am I doing here right now? Is there a point to me doing this, to laying myself out here for you? Are you going to give me another chance or are you just tolerating me until your flight out of town?” Jealous tinges her voice, because its Arthur that Eames is jumping to leave for. A week a go he had turned the point man down. Chosen _her_ over the job. Now just as quickly the status quo has been switched.

Cool sea green eyes meet sparkling brown. He’s wondered to himself how long Ariadne could take him indifference. He wanted her to hurt like he was hurting. That was no secret. Being rebuffed, being hidden, being taken for granted, it wasn’t pleasant. She had to know that. Though, now that he is being faced with her anger, he isn’t so sure he wants to push this.

“Ariadne, you basically told me last night that you _didn’t_ want me in your life as anything but a friend, with a very convenient penis. You want sex, and you want good sex. You want the chemistry; you don’t want the commitment -that was what you laid out for me in not so many words just last night. Now, this morning, you breeze in with breakfast and stuttered apologies. You throw meeting your parents on the table like it’s a goddamn prize and you act hurt that I’m leaving. I know where I am wanted and I know where I am needed. That’s why I’m leaving. He needs a forger, presumably the best. I just so happen to _be_ the best. Not to mention, again, he is a trustworthy colleague and has been for years. I can’t just leave him out to dry like that. You don’t know what you want. Not when it comes to you and I. “

“I am not going to force you into a relationship that you feel obligated to let evolve. I don’t want to be standing right here six months from now with you saying you can’t do this. Making an excuse that it’s the dream work that drove us apart, or the secrecy of my life before. It doesn’t matter what the excuse would be, we would be sitting here in six months and you would be leaving because you aren’t happy.”

“How can you know that’s true?” Ariadne demands, hotly. “How can you possibly know that in six months I’ll be so sick of you I’ll have to leave? You cannot know that that is what would happen. Further more, I am _not_ being forced into a relationship! We _HAVE_ a relationship. This, right now, you and I fighting? This is what we’ll be. Sex, good times, fun stuff, maybe even vacations, god forbid, and fights, days where we want nothing to do with one another. Work is going to get in the way. Life is going to get in the way. _We_ will get in the way. It just happens like that. There’s no stopping it. If we’re smart about it, in six months we’ll be celebrating _not_ giving up. Right now, I don’t see us celebrating six weeks because you’re being a stubborn ass!”

The pair stands in front of one another, chests heaving with their fury at one another. Both have sound arguments, both know that they want to have something with the other. They acknowledge just jumping into bed without boundaries of some sort was likely the poorest way to go about this. Now that they’re having it out, however, the only thing they can think about is the insatiable need crawling through their bodies. Ariadne is half a step away from shaking Eames in an attempt to get him to see the light. Eames wants to haul Ariadne to the door and toss her out on her arse for daring think that breakfast and apologies would mend this wound. Under all that, they want to rip and tear clothes off. They want to tumble to the floor and have it out physically. Sex can be just as punishing as a verbal throw down, after all.

Eames opens his mouth to say something; perhaps to lie out the reasons why Ariadne is wrong, why in six months if they took up with each other as they are now, they would be saying good-bye to one another. The sentence never sees the light of day. In a blur of color and movement, Ariadne throws herself at him. Reflex has him catching her, hauling her body up his so they are face to face. Her legs wrap around his hips, one of her hands drag his mouth to hers and it is a contest to see who can bruise the other’s lips more thoroughly.

There is nothing sensual about the kiss they share, no caring, and no teasing. It is teeth and tongue. The brunettes ravage each other while clinging to skin and cloth in equal measure. Ariadne tastes of toothpaste, she smells like she’s just rolled from her bed, warm, sleepy. Eames smells much the same way, but more pungent somehow. His mouth is all him – no toothpaste, no coffee, nothing. Just Eames. It makes Ariadne press her lips harder against his, her tongue fighting for dominance in the kiss with a fervor Callum has not experienced before now. He gives no quarter in the battle of wills, he’ll be damned if he gives up control to this slip of a woman.

When they pull away, there is the lightest tang of blood on their lips, proving they’ve bruised one another to the best of their ability. That doesn’t quench the fire however; it doesn’t even start to smother the flames they’ve fanned with the arguments over the last day. Ariadne barely registers Eames moving as her hands bury in his hair and pulls his head to the side. Her teeth and lips bite and suck at the junction of his throat and shoulder until there is an angry red mark forming. Her tongue drags over it once before the teeth and suction returns. She works Eames’ skin until the mark is purple and Cal grunts at the sharp edge of pain left in Ariadne’s wake. Her back presses against the all of the corridor that leads to Eames’ bedroom. A dull thud sounds as Eames rips the shoes from her feet non-too gently and drops the offending footwear onto the floor beside them. Her hands grasp his shoulders like a lifeline; his teeth pull at the collar of her t-shirt.

The room is silent but for the grunts and sound of clothing being carelessly discarded onto the ground. A soft shriek sounds, cutting through the noiseless apartment when Callum has the audacity to sink his teeth into the meat of her breast, right at the top, near her collarbone. He does not soothe marks, simply moves to the other side and repeats the gesture. This is the wildest their coupling – if you can call it that- has ever been. Anger drives them. They want to punish each other. Pleasure is edged with pain and just drives them to continue with their own personal onslaught on the other.

Eames, thankfully, to Ariadne at least, is wearing little clothing. His boxer briefs and those are easily gotten rid of when he sets her down. His hands a pulling – tearing the seams, of her clothing. Her shirt that ends up on the floor of the kitchen is half tripped off her. The collar and shoulders of it are hanging on with a prayer and a thread. Her yoga pants don’t have the same half death – the scissors in the bathroom (why does he have those? Her mind asks) slide through the seams and they are gone moments later. The pair of them are careening around the apartment. Her back hits more than one surface and Ariadne knows she’ll have to take a long shower and find a chiropractor later.

Her hands dig into the flesh of his shoulders during this rough and were she in a less lust driven state of mind, frightening undressing. She manipulates his head from side to side, sucking and biting at his flesh until he unceremoniously drops her onto the bed. Landing with a yelp, she is up on her elbows just as his hands hit her shoulders, tugging off her bra straps.  Legs that are longer than either of them give the limbs credit for wrap around Callum’s hips drawling him to the bed. Bra and panties go flying, miraculously whole. Boxer briefs are dragged down, kicked away as they pool around the forger’s feet.


End file.
